Healing Hurting Hearts
by DaniDM
Summary: Part 2 of Birds of a Feather. Julia has secrets, ones she not ready to share...not yet anyway. Henry's life is pretty complete, so he thinks, at least until he meets Julia. R&R. Henry, OC, Walt, Vic, and the rest of the gang eventually.
1. Chapter 1 - New York, New York

**1 – New York, New York**

I hate cities. I hate cities. I hate cities.

So far, I'd been pretty lucky. I'd followed the highway for most of the way, couldn't really avoid it around here. But, the closer the city got, the more signs there were to read and the more exits there were to take. In the past, I'd had a designated driver, no worries about getting around. Easy. Someone else had the responsibility. Now, navigating the New Jersey Turnpike, pulling a camper, no less, what was I thinking? Thank God it was still early and there wasn't much traffic. Seeing the exit on the right, I zinged across four lanes nearly cutting off a Benz to veer onto the 3 East which would lead to exit 17 and eventually to the Lincoln Tunnel and into Manhattan. I tapped the steering wheel anxiously hoping I was early enough to miss rush hour completely, but my gut laughed at me cruelly. I snorted. Did I mention, I hate cities?

Approaching the tunnel, I stretched my back and rotated my shoulders. Last night had been strange. Having driven all day from New Hampshire, and being too tired to find a place to sleep, I'd pulled off into a state-owned rest area north of New Jersey. Kind of scary but surprisingly quite. I didn't even bother to unhitch the camper, just lowered the supports to balance it and take the weight off the car. My little ProLite Mini was small but just enough for Sugar and me. We went for a little walk around the grassy area to stretch our legs after such a long ride, had a bite to eat from the cooler, and were in bed before ten.

I tossed and turned. It was a weird night, full of weird dreams. I was back in Kenya with by best friend, Brook, picking flowers in the Maasai Mara. Weird because there are precious few flowers in the Mara, and weird because Brook is a six foot six, two hundred and forty pound Kenyan Military Police officer whose idea of fun is hand-to-hand combat training. We'd known each other for nearly fourteen years, and I really missed him. Then, Sugar and I were playing with Kuru, my lion shadow from Mandera, in a mine field in South Sudan, two completely different places. My heart hammered as I raced to get them out of the Red Zone, land mines being triggered all around us. Next, I was back in Wyoming peacefully sitting outside my camper watching a glorious sunset over the Big Horn Mountains. That dream flashed forward from beautiful, tranquil colors to pitch black and full of sensations. I was in the camper, hot, my heart pounding. It was like hearing the Arabian Sea rushing in my ears. The desire to be held and to hold was so intense. Hands caressing. Soft whispers. Crushing weight. Henry. What? I shot up, eyes wide open, breathing heavily, sweat soaking my tank. You've got to be kidding me? We'd been in contact since I'd left. Simple. Casual. "Where are you now?", "Is everything okay?" -type e-mails. It was nice, but this dream was a first. Steamy. I started to giggle uneasily as my heart slowed, and I took a sip of water from the ever present reusable bottle. Strange, but I missed him too: the man I hardly knew.

Checking the time on my cell phone, I decided I might as well get up and get moving. It was a bit after four and probably another couple of hours into Manhattan.

The morning sun glistened off the skyscrapers of New York City as I veered left out of the Lincoln Tunnel. Not bad, I praised myself. I'd made pretty good time. Following the signs to West 42nd Street, and turning right, I drove its length, past Times Square, Bryant Park, Grand Central Station, the Chrysler Building working my way to First Avenue, the Turtle Bay district where Headquarters was located. People were up now. Traffic had started, but I was nearly there.

The impressive, monolithic Secretariat shone light green over the East River in the early morning sun as I maneuvered onto First Avenue. It was like a 39-story beacon, the light at the end of a very long tunnel, one that made my heart leap. _Home_, it said. But, it was still out of reach. Although the United Nations Plaza was open to the public, there was no public parking on the grounds. There was street parking and a few public parking garages in the area, but I had no idea which ones might accommodate the camper. Finally deciding to _"go with what you know"_, and circling around on one-way streets, I approached the impressive One UN Plaza on East 44th Street, down the road and up a bit from the main gate and Visitors Center which was across from East 46th. Also called the Millennium Hotel, it was often used for visiting dignitaries and delegates and also housed a few temporary apartments for long term visitors. I'd stayed there a few times on rare visits, and had used one of the apartments between getting out of the hospital and my recent road trip. Pretty ritzy compared to what I was used to.

It was six-thirty when I pulled into to the entrance of the parking garage. The attendant inside the Plexiglas booth took one look at the camper and raised his eyebrows. Not something one regularly saw at this four-star establishment.

Sliding the window of the booth open, he smiled pleasantly and asked, "You lost?"

"No," I replied smiling back, holding up my credentials, "But, I'd appreciate knowing where I can park this thing." I thumbed to the camper.

He examined the passport-like folder and grinned. "I think this is a first, Ma'am. Limos and such, yes, but never one of these." He tipped his head to the back on my car. Rubbing his chin and looking at a diagram of the levels, he half leaned out and pointed. "Okay, head straight, go to sub-level 3. Turn right when you get to the bottom of the ramp. Looks like the spaces there are free, and there's plenty of room to maneuver. If you pull through on an end-to-end, you should fit. Will you be here long, or is it just for the day?"

"Not sure." I replied. "I'll have to get back to you on that." It all depended on how the meeting went this morning, and what they wanted me to do next. My stomach gurgled. It would all be decided in a couple of hours.


	2. Chapter 2 - What the Future Offers

**2 – What the Future Offers**

Outside the ten-foot high, spiked-top, black-barred, perimeter fence, I stood facing the concrete steps that led to the simple, white building that housed the Visitor's Center. The uniformed guard on standing duty at the gate watched me curiously. Due to recent renovations, I had walked the length of First Avenue between East 43th and East 47th Streets and back wondering which entrance I should take. Of the four usually available, only two looked open, but all had guards. If I took the drive-through entrance for delegates, it would lead me directly to the front of the Secretariat, which was where I wanted to be. But, this entrance was usually reserved for visiting dignitaries or senior administrators. I was neither. The other option was to go through the main gate in front of the Visitor's Center, where I now stood. Although still early and closed to tourists, a line was already forming within the light blue, steel barriers in front of the large glass door of the Center.

I stepped forward and approached the guard.

"May I help you?" he asked with a distinct Caribbean accent.

My lips quirked up in an easy manner. "It's been a while," I replied pulling my blue ID card from my back pocket and showing it to him. "I'm not sure where to go."

He looked at it and my backpack, a friendly smile growing. "Been away have you? Lot's of patches." He gestured to my bag.

Pride swelled. "My resume. I make a point to get a unit patch from everywhere I've worked."

He tipped his head in acknowledgement. "You've been busy then. Not much space left."

"Ah." A smile split my face. "There's always space."

He stepped aside allowing me to pass. "You know the routine." He tipped his fingers to the brim of his hat as I stepped back into my world.

Headquarters had always fascinated me. The 18-acres of downtown Manhattan was an international oasis in the bustling mega-center of the world. The land had been donated by John D. Rockefeller Jr. back in 1949, and now housed the primary buildings of the United Nations – General Assembly, Conference Center, Dag Hammarskjold Library, and a multitude of agencies and organizations in the 39-story Secretariat. Over the years, as the UN grew, some organizations had to find alternate housing out of the main domain, but they stayed close, just across the street at One, Two, and Three UN Plazas. Hurricane Sandy had destroyed some of the gardens that surrounded the main structures – the Rose Garden in particular, but none of the monuments had been damaged, a testament to the strength the United Nations held…even over the weather. The gardens and monuments reflected and represented various cultures of the member states and the message that the UN stood for – world peace. Over eight thousand people from all over the world worked in these buildings. There was no other spot like it in the United States, and the flags of the 193 member countries waved proudly in the morning breeze.

Adjusting my backpack and pleased with myself for remembering to put Sugar on the short lead, I ran a hand over my short, light brown hair then smoothed invisible wrinkles out of my light blue, cotton blouse and navy chinos. Taking a deep breath, I strode toward the line. Skirting to the right and passing the monument of the Knotted Gun, the symbol of non-violence that the Organization stood for, I headed toward the admissions booth. The guard behind the glass door watched me carefully.

"Hey, Lady," an annoyed voice called out from the crowd. "We're all waiting. It's not open yet."

I turned my head slightly and nodded acknowledgement to the irritated visitor but continued.

Flashing my ID card for the guard behind the door, I slipped the cord around my neck. He bent for a closer look, and then unlocked the entrance to let me in.

"Morning, Ma'am," he greeted, waving me toward the security screening station.

"Morning," I formally responded, removing my backpack and placing it on the counter of the security check, handing the guard behind the desk my passport credentials and Sugar's papers. Sugar sat, obediently waiting.

The guard behind the desk examined our identification more closely, looking from the card photo to me and back. "Welcome back, Director," he nodded, satisfied, handing the small, navy folder back. "Please remove the harness and collar from the dog and place it in the basket." He signaled to a white, plastic basket on the counter as he stood.

I did as instructed and proceeded through the metal detector before calling Sugar to do the same. We waited patiently as the backpack, collar and harness where examined through the x-ray scanner. Satisfied, the guard handed back the gear, and I reattached Sugar, replacing the pack on my back.

Smiling, I thanked the men and headed toward the corridor that would lead to the General Assembly. Tour guides milled about, preparing for their day, as I made my way through to the main concourse of the Plaza.

Finally exiting, I faced a large, circular fountain, and the Secretariat rose above me in gleaming light green. This was it.

The ride up to the 37th floor was nerve-wracking. Each stop brought a new person on or delivered someone somewhere else. With a sharp ding, the polished, steel doors opened, and I was faced with the long, curved counter of the main reception desk. The efficient-looking, Swedish, blond with the sleeked back hair and wire headset watched as I approached.

"Good morning, Director Farine," she greeted pleasantly, her accent very slight. "We are expecting you. I'll inform the Secretary General that you have arrived." She lowered her head and spoke quietly into the microphone. After a moment, she pressed a button under her desk and instructed, "They're waiting for you in conference room 3. Adjutant Laurence will take care of Sugar." She motioned to the young man in a suit and tie who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

Handing over the leash, I bent to speak with my dog. "I'll be right back. You be good." I stroked her ears; her big, brown eyes watching me walk away.

Conference room 3 was through a set of glass and steel doors behind the reception desk and left down a long corridor. The large office was bustling with phones ringing and people moving about, day-to-day work of keeping this multinational organization running.

I knocked on the smooth, dark mahogany before entering.

"Ah, Julia," Secretary General Ban Ki-moon rose from his seat at the round table. The slightly built Asian walked toward me, hand extended in a friendly greeting. "Welcome back. I trust your journey was a pleasant one?" His smile was genuine. We'd met a few times, and I was always impressed with his easy, friendly manner for someone so important.

I shook his hand, a calm smile hiding my tension.

"It was interesting, Sir." My confident voice belied the underlying rollercoaster of my nerves.

Turning to the two other people in the room, I took a professional step forward to shake the hand of the coordinator of Department of Peacekeeping Operations who had risen to greet me. "Under Secretary Ladsous. Under Secretary Amos." I then moved to the offered hand of Baroness Valerie Amos, the coordinator of Humanitarian Affairs Emergency Relief. Peacekeepers and Humanitarian Affairs. Both my bosses. This can't be good.

The meeting lasted an hour. It was semi-formal, clear and concise, outlining their recommendations and my options. When we were done, I had a good idea of where I stood. I was due at Mont Sinai Hospital, north of Central Park, in the morning for a full physical and psych eval. As hospitals go, it's the best, the oldest teaching hospital in the United States. My first time there, however, wasn't altogether pleasant, but most of the staff was friendly and concerned. I should have been sent home in a box, and yet, I had not only survived but was actually walking again. I wondered what they'd say now. I, also, had another meeting with my superiors scheduled for Monday, at which time final determination of my status would be made. That would give me the weekend to weigh my options.

Stepping out of the conference room, Adjutant Carine Polk met me with Sugar in tow. I knew her from my last visit. Nice girl. Young. Eager. She had been assigned as my aid for the duration of my stay.

"It's an honor to serve you again, Ma'am." She smiled, reaching out her hand.

I returned the smile taking her hand warmly in mine. "You're not my servant. You don't serve me, but I do appreciate your assistance."

As we turned to head toward the reception area, Carine continued, "You've been booked into One UN Plaza, The Millennium. The same apartment as last time. I took the initiative to purchase some basic supplies that I thought you may need. I remember you had a fondness for red pepper hummus, Naan bread, and garden vegetables, and I've made certain that the water cooler has demineralized water in it. If you want to go anywhere, need tickets for anything, basically whatever you want, just call." She handed me her business card along with my room key card.

"Thank you." I nodded as I took Sugar's lead from her. Carine was such a sweetheart and trying so hard to please. All I wanted was get out of there and think.

"I'll escort you to the hotel," she added professionally as we reached the elevator.

"No, thank you." I smiled weakly, stopping her before she got in. "I can manage." I wanted to be alone, just me and Sugar. I needed to process what was happening. Holding up the cards as the elevator doors started to close, I broadened the smile and said, "I guarantee you'll hear from me."

"Anytime," she smiled back.


	3. Chapter 3 - Chatter

**3 – Chatter**

_Rezdawg – So, how did it go today?_

_Jewel – Not as I had hoped._

_Rezdawg – Did they let you go?_

_Jewel – They won't send me back. It hurts._

_Rezdawg – I'm sorry. Did they explain why?_

_Jewel – Yes, and I understand they're reasons, but it doesn't make it any easier._

_Rezdawg – What will you do now?_

_Jewel – They've given me some options. I have to make some decisions. _

_Rezdawg – Will you be staying in New York?_

Pause.

_Jewel – For now. I have some things to take care of, and have another meeting on Monday._

_Rezdawg – You know you are welcome to come back here. The rodeo will be in town at the end of next month. It is always a lot of fun. Have you ever been to a rodeo?_

I could tell he was trying to cheer me up.

_Jewel – No, but I've heard about them. A few years ago, I was working with some people from Texas, and they got homesick, so we put on a rodeo. African version. Zebras don't quite ride the same as horses, so I'm told._

Pause.

_Rezdawg – You are kidding, right?_

_Jewel – No. _(I laughed)_ Some of the men thought that lassoing the Maasai Ostriches would be great fun, too. They're raced in some parts but hogtying an ostrich? I wasn't impressed. It was cruel, and it didn't take long for the Mission Director to put a stop to it. Remember what I said about animals and respect?_

_Rezdawg – Yes, and I agree. But, there is more to a rodeo than that. There is a lot of skill involved._

_Jewel – I'm sure there is. I just don't know what I'm going to do. I've spent my whole adult life building on this job, working my way up in different aspects of it. Now, I can't do it. At least not the way I was trained to. I feel lost and powerless, and it hurts._

_Rezdawg – I wish I could be there for you. It sounds like you could use a friend._

_Jewel – You are here for me. You're "talking" to me right now._

_Rezdawg – I wish I could actually talk with you. You have my number. Call me._

Pause.

_Jewel – No._

_Rezdawg – Why not?_

_Jewel – Because, I'll end up crying, and I don't know if I can handle that right now._

_Rezdawg – I understand. The answers to our questions are not always clear or immediate, but things always work out in the end. Sometimes it just takes time._

_Jewel – Ahh, the wise Elder of the Cheyenne. _(I joked.)

_Rezdawg – Just a little friendly support. If you ever want to come back, know that you will be welcome. I would like to see you again. Maybe finish that conversation about superiority and fire power._

_Jewel – You mean "the guy with the bigger stick has all the power"._

_Rezdawg – That would be the one._

_Jewel – I'd like that. _(I smiled)_ I have to go. I have an appointment at Mount Sinai in the morning._

_Rezdawg – The hospital?_

_Jewel – Yes. Just a physical. I got hurt last summer, and they want to make sure everything is okay. _

_Rezdawg – Is that where you got the limp?_

I paused, thinking. How much do I say?

_Jewel – Yes. Maybe someday I'll tell you what happened._

_Rezdawg – Sounds mysterious. _

_Jewel – No. Just a painful memory. _(Pause)_ Thanks for being there._

_Rezdawg – Anytime. And I mean that. You have my number. I do not have yours. I would really like to hear your voice again._

His voice. That calm, smooth, even, timbre that could ease the most frayed nerves. The reason I wouldn't call right now. It would break me, and as it was I was barely holding it together.

_Rezdawg – You still there?_

_Jewel – Yes. _

_Jewel – I have to go._

_Jewel – I miss you._

Henry gazed at his screen, his heart curiously banging in his chest, his hands hovering over the keyboard.

_Rezdawg – I miss you, too. _


	4. Chapter 4 - Blue Rodeo

**4 – Blue Rodeo**

"And then I said, _if you can't keep your hands to yourself, you won't be able to play on Saturday night_. At which point, the idiot said, _play what?_ Really? The guy's a guitarist."

"So, what did you do?"

"Well, I had his fingers bent back, so I gave an extra little push. I think he finally got the message when he heard the crack."

"You didn't? Did you? Really? Did you break his fingers?"

"Na. Just cracked the knuckles, but it still gave him a scare. He wasn't a happy camper, but I think he'll think twice before putting his hands on my ass again."

"Ladies." Henry emerged from his office to interrupt the conversation between Kelly and Samantha.

"Hi Henry," Samantha smiled from her bar stool while Kelly preened at her successful rebuff of unwanted attention. "Have you heard from Ethan? He transferred up to Red River last week and has been, as he calls it, "in-country". What does that mean, anyway?" She looked at Kelly. "I just know that I can't get in touch with him."

"_In-country_ is a slang military term." Henry answered competently. "It means to be on a job somewhere foreign and out of communications. Wasn't he taking a tour group deep woods camping?"

"Yes, but I didn't think I wouldn't hear from him?" Samantha's brow furrowed as the historian pouted.

Henry lips quirked up knowingly. Maybe she was finally catching on. Ethan had a huge crush on her and for the past few months had tried, unsuccessfully, to attract her attention, but she never saw beyond the friendship. He had planned this trip in the hopes of getting her out of his system, but maybe, she was finally missing him the way he wanted her to. What did Kelly call it? Complicated. He shook his head as he went to check the bar stock.

"I just did that." Kelly smirked stopping Henry as his phone rang.

"This is the Red Pony," he answered. "Home of the best buffalo burgers and cheesy fries in the state." He grinned as Kelly rolled her eyes and wandered down the bar.

"Buffalo burgers? Really? And, you made a comment about riding zebras?" I snorted.

"Julia!" Henry's casual lean on the counter suddenly jolted upright and attentive.

Kelly and Samantha both turned, eager to hear more.

"Where are you? How are you?" he asked, wincing, knowing he sounded anxious.

"I'm fine. I've been pretty busy. I got my new appointment. Not what I wanted, but it keeps me connected."

"Are they sending you back?"

"No." I knew my disappointment showed. "But, they did offer an interesting option. I'm to act as a consultant in East African affairs. I lived there for over twenty-five years in different communities. I'm classified as an expert in the culture and of the political situation that exists." I tried to sound enthusiastic. I failed.

"I did not think you were into politics?" he asked moving into his office to avoid prying ears, getting comfortable behind his desk, leaning back in his chair and kicking his feet up onto the corner.

"I'm not." I smiled. "But _there_ is not like _here_. You really don't have an option but to be aware of the situation. Politics often controls who gets help, who gets disregarded, or who gets attacked. Consider yourself lucky that you don't live in a society where every second person is carrying a semi-automatic weapon."

Henry drew a slow, deep breath. What had she lived through? "You know this is the first time you've call me?"

"I know. E-mails are much easier, and the past couple of weeks have been difficult. A lot has happened. I really wanted to hear your voice."

Henry pinched the bridge of his nose with his right hand as his chest tightened. He didn't like the feeling that was coming over him. Sadness. Disappointment. She wasn't coming back. Had he really expected her to? He had no reason to think that?

"So, you are staying in New York, then?"

There was a pause, and a click and whir of a machine. "Henry," I began quietly, uneasily. "I could use a friend."

Henry closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the chair. "You've got one." He said quietly.

That smooth, even voice had my throat tighten.

"Good." I pressed the button, Blue Rodeo's _Bad Timing,_ the harmonica and acoustic guitar strummed quietly over the speaker.

_Hey, it's me, what a big surprise, calling you up from a restaurant around the bend. _

_I just got in from way up north. I'm aching tired now and I could use a friend. _

Henry took his phone from his ear and looked at it, then listened carefully.

_I might be a fool to think that you do want to see me again. _

His feet hit the floor, the phone back to his ear as he strode out of his office and into the bar.

_It's been awhile since I talked to you, nothing wrong just nothing ever goes as planned. _

_Many times I thought I'd call. I didn't have your number in my hand._

His chest swelled as he lowered his cell phone and closed it.

I smiled, uncertainly, leaning up against the jukebox as the song played. I had hoped that I wasn't going to make a fool of myself, that it wasn't just talk inviting me back - that he meant it.

I closed my phone too, and waited. Who would make the first move? I didn't have to wait long.

With the slow strum of guitar, Henry stepped forward, reaching out his right hand. I put my hand in his, and he pulled me close. Swaying to the music, he wrapped a strong arm around my shoulders. I could feel my strength wane, so I just leaned in, absorbing his.

"So, you need a friend?" I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Yes." I nodded against his chest, listening to his heart.

"You have one," he reassured. "What about your job?"

"Ah." I grinned up at him. "The beauty of that is that they gave me the equipment. They didn't need me to stay in New York. I can be anywhere. I just need to stay in touch and be available."

"Really?" He grinned back.

I nodded. "In the past few months, of all the places I've been, Wyoming is the only one I've wanted to come back to."

Henry took a slow, deep breath, smiling satisfactorily as we moved to the music.

"There's a lot about me that you don't know," I continued. "I've done a lot of things, been a lot of places. I can't just sit down and tell it all in one shot. It would be too much."

"It is what it is, then. I am glad you are back. I would like to get to know you better. I'm patient. You'll tell it when you are ready."


	5. Chapter 5 - Getting Comfortable

**5 - Getting Comfortable**

The place wasn't small, but it wasn't commercially massive either. Equipment lined the walls and was strategically scattered through the interior so that members had to move around them in order to get where they wanted to go. This made people stop, look, and maybe try something new. It was an interesting tactic.

I had stuck my head in a few times over the past week before making the final decision. And, although there always seemed to be people around, it never seemed to be crowded. That was a plus.

Interestingly enough, there were three gyms in Durant: one that catered to the fru-fru ladies crowd that arrived in spandex leotards or coordinated track suits, sweated for about thirty minutes in ten minute circuit training, then went to the local coffee shop to socialize, one that catered to the iron-pumping, testosterone-driven men with no necks who could no longer put their arms to their sides, and then this one. I had visited twice and was draw to the sort of people there: older women in faded leggings and boxy t-shirts speed walking on the tread mill, younger men in small groups, some pumped, most not, helping each other with the weights, a few teen girls in various sizes encouraging each other on, some older men, basically, a hodgepodge of people with one thought in mind – getting fit and not really caring how they looked while doing it or who was watching. Although there was always music blasting, most had their own earphones plugged into their ears, in their own zone.

I fit right in.

Not knowing how things were going to work out in my new life, I bought a trial pass for $29.99 for the month. Why not just say $30? I figured it was a pretty good deal. The owner/manager offered to walk me through the equipment and put me on a plan, but the plan required answering some questions that I wasn't up to. So, after the tour, I chose to follow the routine that my physical therapist at Mount Sinai had put me on, at least until I was more comfortable and needed to change it up.

Today was my second workout.

I'd done the required stretching and was finishing twenty minutes on the elliptical trainer, sweat already shining on my brow and trickling down my spine. This was pathetic. Although I walked a lot, I was obviously more out of shape than I thought. Stepping off and taking a sip of water from my bottle, I moved to the declined bench press machine. Moving the pin to lift thirty pounds, I shook my head at myself. Thirty pounds. I used to carry twice that on my back. Lifting and carrying had been part of the job. Putting my earphones in, I leaned back and started to count.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a young, native man in his early twenties watching me. He was buff: broad shoulders, well-defined muscles. Cropped hair, military-style. His grey tank had a streak of sweat down the back and under the arms. He looked familiar then I remembered that's what it was like in small towns. Everyone knew everyone else, and you keep running into the same people. New people were a novelty. That's why he stared. When I returned his gaze, he quickly looked away to hold the barbell of the man he was with.

I continued my routine and, at some point, he and his friend left.

The shower stall at the gym was a good four feet by four feet, a lot of room to maneuver. I took the rare opportunity to let the steaming, hot water run over me. It felt good not to rush. No more two minute showers. Although, living in the camper still lent itself to bucket baths, the gym membership had obvious perks. This was one. I stood under the spray, my hands against the wall of the stall, leaning into the heat and letting it loosen my muscles. It felt so good.

After a few minutes, I turned the water off, reached for the towel on the hook outside the stall, and quickly dried myself. Putting my underclothes on, and a bit self-conscious of my appearance, I listened before stepping into the empty locker room. There were two mirrors above the counter and sinks and a full length mirror between the two shower stalls. No spectators. I stood before the full length mirror taking inventory, another rare occurrence.

Where ribs once showed and taunt muscles once rippled were now padded and there was a slight roll above the waistline of the underwear. I scowled. Life was a bitch. The gym was going to get used, that was a given.

My eyes drifted to my left shoulder, and I drew my right hand up, gently touching the round scar – the first shot. It had all happened in a matter of seconds. I took a slow, deep breath. Turning slightly to examine the exit wound through the shoulder blade, I fingered the uglier wound. Going in was clean. Coming out was messy. Plastic surgery had helped, but you could still tell what had happened. Turning fully, my back to the mirror, I stretched my head over my right shoulder, and ran my hand down the back of my right leg feeling another hole – shot number two – a ricochet off of God knows what and into thick muscle. Straightening and raising my hand to my right kidney, hole number three, deflected off the Kevlar vest I'd worn, thank God, or I'd have one less kidney and probably would have died. Both were pretty clean wounds, no exit. Turning to face the mirror again, I stood staring at the rough, thin, red line that ran vertically four inches between my breasts – shots four and five - a double tap into Kevlar which resulted in a disruption of the heartbeat, broken ribs, and eventually, through the rescue team's effort of trying to get me to safety, a punctured lung. The evac to a field hospital had been pretty quick, but the surgeons were the "patch'em up, ship'em out" sort. I'd lapsed into a coma. A week later, I woke up in a Nairobi hospital still struggling for life and being told, at best, I'd never walk again. And with that, my career as I knew it was over. So far, I'd proven them wrong, but they still won't send me back. I stared into my own sad eyes.

Voices sounded at the doorway as new people arrived jolting me back to Durant. I quickly threw on a clean t-shirt and pulled on my jeans. Tying my runners and grabbing my gym back, I left. Sugar was waiting in the car. I had other things to do rather than wallow in self-pity.


	6. Chapter 6 - What Are Friends For

**6 – What Are Friends For**

Walt sat on the tall, bar chair sipping a Rainier while Henry stood opposite the polished, wooden counter, plans being made for the "big" campaign barbeque that Walt really didn't want to be a part of.

"You are the Sheriff." Henry pointed a long finger at him. "And, you need to be seen as a personable man, someone involved in his community, even if you are the most sullen individual in the northern region." He tossed the bar rag over his shoulder and casually leaned his right elbow onto the counter.

"Sullen?" Walt questioned taking another slow pull of beer. "Is that the best you've got?" A small twitch played at the corner of his mouth.

"Branch is young, and people see him as someone with new energy. You, on the other hand, have been in office for… how long now? You have spent the past year brooding over what cannot be changed. It's time to get on with it. Get out there. Be with people. Shake hands. Kiss babies." Henry split a grin at Walt's glower. "Okay, no babies. But, you need to be seen publicly. You are doing this." He ordered, shaking a finger at his friend. "And, you will smile while doing it."

Walt put his beer on the counter and leaned forward, head down, his Cattleman's hat tipped low over his brow. He hated being in the public eye. He just wanted to do his job. _That_ was "getting on with it". That should be all that mattered, not this political BS. No one had ever challenged him before, and Deputy Branch Connally's sudden emergence as a candidate for sheriff got Walt's dander up. Cocky SOB. He had years of experience under his belt and had proven himself time and time again. And, though Branch was a good enough cop, he was a hot-head, impulsive. Walt had no doubt that he would make sheriff someday, but not now. Not while he was still alive and kicking.

"I heard you have been getting calls from a detective from Denver." Henry changed the subject seeing his friend drift.

Walt merely nodded, picking up his beer again, taking a swig.

"Have you spoken with him?" Henry asked.

"No," Walt answered shortly lowering the bottle. "Been kind of busy."

Henry nodded and frowned. The bear-bait incident. Nasty business. Crooked cop sends a message by killing a former inmate. He and his associates had tied meat to the poor soul and blamed the resulting mauling on a bear attack.

"You know, he will keep calling until you do. You might as well get it over with. Find out what he knows."

Walt just frowned. Talking to a Denver detective was on the bottom of his list. Not something he wanted to revisit. Last year, he had done something that, although he didn't regret, would haunt him for the rest of his life. Henry had tracked him to the city, in the pouring rain, no less, and had helped Walt get through the most devastating time of his life. He knew that whatever happened, Henry would have his back. Walt shook his head slowly at the bad memory.

Silence between the two old friends was thick.

"Life goes on." Henry sincerely reached out to clap Walt on the shoulder. Then grinning, he brightened swinging the towel from his shoulder and grabbing the notepad he had been writing on. Waving it at Walt, he said, "I hear you have met someone new. You should invite her to the barbeque. I hear she is very attractive and friendly. It would be good for you to have some female company."

Walt raised his head, a puzzled look on his face. "Where do you hear these things?"

Henry smirked and silently spread his hands to the bar.

Walt shook his head lowering his gaze to the counter top. "I'm not ready," he mumbled fidgeting with his bottle. Diverting the attention away from himself, he said, "I hear that woman with the black dog is back in town."

Recognizing the change, Henry smiled. "Yes. She is back. She arrived earlier in the week."

"Where's she from?"

Henry thought for a moment. "She is from everywhere and nowhere," he began philosophically. It was an apropos description considering that the woman presently lived in a trailer in the Red River campground.

Walt raised his right eyebrow, something Henry noticed he did to elicit more information.

"From what she has told me, she was born and raised in New Hampshire, but has primarily worked in Africa."

"Africa? What kind of work?" Walt asked curiously.

"She is a humanitarian." Henry grinned. "She began by building schools in Kenya and worked her way up. She has recently been made a consultant in East African affairs." His thought drifted. "You know, I am not entirely sure what else she does. She talks about some things in detail but avoids others completely. Something serious happened. I know that she was very upset to be sent back to the United States and is even more upset that she cannot return to Kenya."

Walt paused, thinking. "What company did she work for?"

"She says she has worked for a few. UNICEF being one of them."

Walt's eyebrows rose. Interesting. "No husband, family?"

"Not that she has mentioned, and I have not asked." Henry leaned onto his forearms, wondering about all the questions.

Walt watched his friend closely. "Why was she sent back?"

Henry's brow furrowed, but he continued answering the interrogation. "All she said was that she got hurt last summer and was sent back because she still held a US passport. Although she was not happy about it, she chose to make the best of the situation by exploring the country she had not been in for many years. She has just returned from New York City."

"Alright." Walt paused. "So, why is she _here_?" he emphasized.

"She said it reminded her of Kenya." Henry shrugged. "And, I invited her." He ended with a smile.


	7. 7 - Hot Dogs, Hamburgers, and Hand Shake

**7 – Hot Dogs, Hamburgers, and Hand Shakes**

The smell of a charcoal grill wafted through the town square. A small band – acoustic guitar, drums, harmonica, and fiddle - pounded out a cheery beat from the bandstand in the center. The atmosphere was festive, and people milled about moving from cluster to cluster socializing on the bright, sunny, Saturday afternoon.

Two deputies, a portly, young man and a tough, blond woman, stood at the edge of the crowd as Henry flipped burgers and rolled dogs on the grill, loading them onto a tray to be distributed to the gathering. Samantha and Ethan held hands as they maneuvered toward a vacant picnic table. Walt was nowhere in sight.

I stood on the outer fringes feeling a little like an outsider.

"Where's your friend?" A low voice rumbled from behind.

I startled and turned to face a broad, blue cotton-clad chest and gold star just below eye level. I took a small step back to look up. He was a tall man, I noted.

"In the car. I didn't know if dogs were permitted at public functions like this."

"She'll be fine." Walt's lips twitched self-consciously. He had seen her from across the street and hadn't intended to come over, but he was draw to her and that bothered him.

"Is this a regular occurrence?" I asked. "A summer barbeque for the town? It's a nice gesture."

Walt shifted his feet. "No, not really. Henry's idea of a campaign fundraiser without raising funds. More a social event."

My lips quirked up. "A fundraiser without raising funds? Ahh, I saw the signs. Sheriff. I get it now. The proverbial political handshaking." He looked around, uneasily. "I take it you're not a politician."

His eyes drew back to mine, deep blue and clear. I smiled.

"I don't blame you." I shook my head. "Politics gets in the way of so much. I take it you're more a man of action. Do what you need to do because it needs to be done. I can relate."

He gazed at her; saw it in her eyes, in the way she smiled. She did understand.

"Walt, there you are. Folks have been askin' for you." A petit, blond woman with a distinct southern accent approached the sheriff and gently placed her hand on his arm. "Hey there, I'm Lizzie. Lizzie Ambrose." She reached a friendly hand to me, a broad smile on her face.

"Hello, Lizzie. I'm Julia." I returned the handshake noticing Walt shifting his feet uncomfortably again. _Nervous man for a sheriff_, I thought.

"New in town, are ya?" she asked keeping her hand on the sheriff's arm. "I remember bein' new. Such nice folks here, though." She smiled up at the sheriff. "Why don't you come and sit with us? That wouldn't be a problem, would it, Walt?" Although making a friendly gesture, it was obvious that she was also making a public claim to the man, staking her territory and letting me know it.

"Thank you, but no. I'm going to see if Henry needs some help. It was good to see you again, Sheriff, and it was nice meeting you, Lizzie." I pasted on a political smile then wandered off.

Half way to the barbeque, I noticed a familiar old woman and her scraggily dog standing by a bench on the opposite side of the park. She looked as outcast as I felt. Detouring, I headed in her direction. So did a couple of teen boys.

"Geez, smell that?" One young man sneered as they jostled each other in their approach.

"Rotten fish smells better." Another pinched his nose with his fingers, while the third pretended to vomit.

"Hey, I can't tell whether the smell is from the old squaw or the mutt," the first joked, pushing his friend forward toward the old woman. "What'do you think?" he laughed as his friend tumbled over his own feet.

The old woman and the dog didn't move, they stood gazing emptily at the trio.

"Oooo, watch it, Hank. She's givin' you the evil eye. She might curse you." All three began a mock rain dance, whooping and laughing.

I finally reached the small group and stepped between them. They stopped and insolently stared at me.

"Hello boys," I greeted in a friendly manner. "Free hot dogs and hamburgers over there." I lifted my hand in the direction of the barbeque.

They eyed me contemptuously, and scoffed as I stared them down, but slowly they moved off toward Henry and the free food.

"We're all born with a brain, but some simply choose not to use it." I smiled kindly at the old woman. "I was going to get a hamburger. Would you like to join me?"

She gripped the rope on her dog a bit tighter, and looked down to where Sugar normally stood.

I smiled gently and replied, "She's in the car. A lot of people." I gestured around. "I didn't know if she'd be allowed. The sheriff said it would be okay, though. I just haven't gotten her yet."

The old woman nodded, and we began to walk together to toward the food. Eyes turned in our direction as we passed.

"Hello, Ladies," Henry greeted with a huge smile and a tip of his cowboy hat. "What can I get for you?"

"Those smell so good." I grinned. "What would you like?" I asked the woman.

She pointed to a burger as the dog licked its lips.

"Can we get one without a bun?"

"Of course," Henry smiled and put three burgers on three plates.

Moving to another table, we put our plates down to add the condiments. The old woman loaded her burger while I cut the lone patty into chunks for the dog. Then, I stood looking at the choices. This wasn't something I normally ate and didn't know where to begin. The woman noticed my hesitation, grabbed the burger, poured ketchup and mustard on it, then pushed it back in my direction with a toothless grin. Picking up her plate and the dog's rope, she moved to a vacant table. I followed, the poor mutt prancing anxiously by my side as I carried its meal. Sitting, I put the plate on the ground and the dog dove in.

We ate our burgers in silence.

It was good but filling. The texture was a bit odd for my taste, but the old woman devoured hers before I could get mine half done.

"You still hungry?" I asked as she gazed at my plate.

Our eyes met, and the answer was clear. I made a cut in the burger, gave her the untouched portion and cut the other piece for the dog. Placing it on their plates, it was gone before I could barely take my hands away. With a smile and a nod, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and rose, took the dog's rope, and wandered off toward the street, disappearing down a narrow alley.

I sat watching her leave.

In time, the music stopped and the gathering began to thin out. Henry closed up the barbeque while volunteers packed up the food and loaded it into the back of Henry's pickup.

I wandered over.

"Need a hand?" I offered.

"Where's Sugar?" Henry asked seeing the rare occasion of me without my dog.

"Sleeping in the car."

"Why didn't you just leave her in the camper?" He handed me the edge of a large cloth, and we folded it together.

"She's more comfortable in the car. Feels more secure. If I left her in the camper, she'd hear the car drive off and realize I'm leaving without her. Dogs feel too. I didn't want her to feel abandoned."

Henry smiled and shook his head as he took the folded cloth from me a put it in a box. "You are such a softy. It was nice to see Maggie here. I saw what you did with the boys."

"Maggie. I didn't know her name." I took a bag from the prep table while Henry lifted the box, and we headed to his truck. "Everyone deserves respect. They had no right to behave like that."

Henry nodded, sliding the box in and taking the bag from me, placing it in the back. "She is a fixture around here. We have tried to get her into a shelter or home, but she will not stay, especially in the summer."

"We?" I asked.

He turned and leaned against the truck. "The Band Council. We try to take care of the elderly, especially those who have no one else. She will not accept it, though. As long as she causes no harm to herself or does not disturb anyone, we just keep an eye on her."

"_It takes a village_…" I let the rest of the quote hang, the understanding clear between us.

He pressed his lips together and nodded. "I noticed you did not eat much. You did not like it?"

"Actually, it was very good." I smiled. "I just don't eat very large portions, and beef is still a touchy subject with me."

"Shhh." Henry held his hand sideways to his lips, covertly glancing around. "Do not let that get out," he whispered. "Cattle country. You _are_ in the West, remember," he joked.

I smiled, and shook my head at him. I'd done more smiling in the past week than I had in the past few months. It felt good.

"There are a few leftovers. Would you like to take something for Sugar? I am going to take the rest to the community center on the Rez. It is movie night tonight for the kids. Would you like to come?"

"Really? You're not working? It's Saturday night."

"I worked all day. Someone else can work tonight. Come on. A movie will be fun."

My insides ballooned, filling me with a sense of joy that I hadn't felt in a long time. Innocent. Free. I agreed.

Across the street, outside the Sheriff's office, Walt solemnly nodded to his constituents and neighbors as he watched Julia and Henry talk.

Ferg, the portly, young deputy who had been at the gathering all afternoon approached his boss. "So, that's her?" he asked, lifting his chin in Julia's direction.

"Yup."


	8. Chapter 8 - Bread Crumbs

**8 – Bread Crumbs**

I followed Henry to the Red Pony and parked my car near the kitchen in the back. He went in quickly while I transferred my and Sugar's backpacks into his truck. When he came out, he slid a large box onto the flatbed with the barbeque and other supplies from the day. Sliding into the driver's seat, he scratched Sugar's head, and smiled at me as we drove off.

The south entrance for the Rez was only about fifteen minutes up the road.

"Your boss doesn't mind you taking the night off? I would think Saturday would be a busy night." I asked.

"It is, but everyone is entitled to time off now and then. I have a pretty flexible schedule."

"Lucky you. Do you enjoy what you do?"

"Very much. Although there are always things that need to be taken care of, every night is different. Different people on different nights means different dynamics. But, you can always count on the familiar, too. For example, Sam will come in every Friday around four, or if Jesse mixes beer and whiskey, even one shot, a fight will erupt."

"Keeps you on your toes. I know I've asked this before, but what exactly do you do there?"

He glanced over and smiled, and I rolled my eyes as we both laughed, "Everything."

I chuckled. I guess that was deserved. He was about as forthcoming about his job as I am about mine. Maybe I should change that.

As if reading my mind, my phone vibrated at my hip, and I pulled it out looking at the caller ID.

"Excuse me," I said flipping it open. "Farine," I briskly answered. The number was known, and the voice on the other end was familiar: Brook, my best friend in Mandera. It would be about six the next morning there, taking in the time difference, and that concerned me.

"_Salamu_," I greeted in Swahili, glancing sideways at Henry. It was a start. "_Ni mapema._ _nini ni vibaya_?" (It is early. What is wrong?)

"_Mimi zinahitajika kuongea na wewe_." (I needed to speak with you.) My colleague replied in a hushed, worried voice.

"_Shida na Lewis?_" (Having trouble with Lewis?)

"_Ndiyo_. _Ganjawi hapendi naye._ _Hali ni wakati._" (Yes. Ganjawi doesn't like him. The situation is tense.) There was a slight pause. I could almost see Brook glancing over his shoulder in the way he always did when we spoke confidentially. "_Unaweza haja ya kuzungumza naye._" (You may need to speak with him.)

I glanced over at Henry again who was politely trying to ignore the odd conversation. "Lewis or Ganjawi?" I switched to English and snorted knowing neither man would be easy to deal with.

"Both would be good," Brook responded with a heavy accent. "But, if you speak only with Commander Lewis, he will feel undermined, and if you speak only with Ganjawi, Lewis will know and will feel betrayed. But something needs to be done. The Commander may know the technicalities of his job, but he is not relating well to the people and not listening to our advice."

"And, you think he'll listen to me?"

"He should." Brook was firm, annoyed. "It is your path he must follow if peace is to be maintained. Both Ganjawi and Mirembe would rather deal with you, and they are not making it easy for the Commander. However, Lewis' abruptness is not popular either."

I frowned and looked out the truck window. "If I speak with them before speaking with Lewis, it would definitely be considered an undermine and betrayal. I can't do that." I paused. "Ganjawi and Mirembe have worked hard on this alliance. You're right; we can't let this situation deteriorate any further. Do you want me to call Lewis tonight?"

Just then, the pickup hit a bump, and I let out a little yelp as I unexpectedly bounced and hit my head on the ceiling.

"Where are you?" Brook asked curiously concerned.

"On my way to see a movie." I grinned at Henry who grimaced and mouthed _I'm sorry_ then focused more closely on the road.

"Please tell me that you are not going alone." I could hear the exasperation in his voice. Brook had been bugging me for years about doing things on my own, that I should find someone. I used to jokingly reply that I didn't need anyone, I had him.

"Actually, no, I'm not alone."

"_Kumshukuru mungu!_" (Thank God!) My best friend sighed. "It's about time." There was a pause. "It is a man, correct?"

I laughed out loud. "Yes." I paused then got back on topic. "Do you want me to call tonight?"

There was a pause. "No," Brook answered. "Enjoy your night."

"Look," I started, "Keep Anton and Bennett in the village. They are our eyes and ears. I promise I'll call Lewis in the morning unless something critical happens in the meantime. I'll keep it easy. You know, just the _Hi, how are things going_- type call. At least that will be within my job. I'll see what he says and get back to you."

"That sounds good." I could hear relief in Brook's voice. "I will keep you informed. Go. Enjoy your movie. We should web chat soon. I miss your smile."

"You know, I'm doing a lot more of that these days." I grinned as we pulled onto the road that led to the Rez. "Look, I have to go, but I promise I'll make the call. I miss you. Take care."

"Have fun tonight, and don't go home." Brook was laughing as we hung up.

_Don't go home_, I snorted. Brook was always trying to make me cross that line. I frowned. Not anytime soon. A veteran at the hospital had told me to wear the scars as a badge of honor, but they were varied and deep. Not just physical. I just wasn't ready yet.

"Sorry about that," I apologized as I slid the phone back into its holster.

"No problem," Henry replied. "Work?"

I nodded.

"Swahili." He noted.

I nodded gain.

"It sounds like a difficult language to learn."

"It is, but it's either learn or rely on others to translate, and that could be very dangerous." I glanced out the window at the rundown, mobile homes and small, wooden houses as we entered the residential area of the Rez.

"Do you only speak Swahili?"

I sighed, thinking. _Maybe it was time to start opening up. In for a penny, in for a pound_, I thought. "No." I quietly answered.

Henry's brow knitted together. "How many languages _do_ you speak?"

"Fluently, conversationally, or just to get by?"

Henry slowed as we approached the community center and took the opportunity to look directly at me. "You're serious." I returned his gaze. "Alright. All."

"Somewhere around thirteen."

His eyebrows shot up. "Thirteen? And, fluently?"

"That's easier." My lips twitched up uncomfortably. "Five. Although, it used to be six, but I haven't spoken German in many years, so it probably slides back to the conversational category."

"How did you learn all these languages?"

"Immersion mostly. Work. I deal with a lot of people from different places. My boss used to say that I picked up languages the way most people picked up colds. I had a knack for it. It's not something I advertise, though. Is that the community center?" I pointed to a low, white building with a number of children and parents milling about.

Henry drew his attention back to the approach. "Yes. I'll pull over to the side and unload the barbeque there. By the way, good digression." His lips twitched up as he parked the truck.

Henry got out, shook hands with a couple of men who came over to help, and they began unloading the equipment.

I slid out the other side, hooked Sugar's leash onto her harness, and moved to the back to help as well. The adults sent suspicious looks: white woman on Indian land, but several children came running over to pat Sugar. She just sat and proudly absorbed the attention.

A small boy and girl raced to the truck, the little boy, the youngest, launching himself into Henry's arms, squeezing the man's neck tight. The little girl, the mature older sister, stood back waiting her turn. Henry shifted the boy to his left hip and ran his hand affectionately down the little girl's cheek before taking her hand and wandering toward a slender, golden-skinned woman with long, black hair and dark, shining eyes. They hugged, and he gently kissed her forehead.

My heart rose into my throat and a crushing feeling tighten my chest. For a woman who has spent most of her life reading people, how could I have misread him so completely? Or, did I? Did I misinterpret something that really wasn't there? Was I hoping for something? Friends. He offered friendship. That's all I was interested in, all I was looking for. Right? So, why did this hurt? I shook my head at myself.

Returning to the cab of the truck, I hauled out Sugar's backpack and, taking a deep breath, pulled it onto my back and joined Henry and his family.

By now the boy was on the ground, and wrapped around Henry's leg hiding while the girl stared up at me with big, brown eyes.

"Julia." Henry held his hand out to me. "I want you to meet someone."

I stepped forward with a polite smile, hand uneasily gripping Sugar's leash.

"Yvonne, this is Julia." The introductions began, and the woman beamed. "Julia, this is my sister, Yvonne," he continued.

Sister? Relief flooded me. I wasn't trespassing.

"And these two rascals are Marcus and Layla." He finally pried the boy from his leg and brought him forward.

I reached my hand to Yvonne in greeting and knelt on my haunches to be eye level with the children.

"Hello there," I said confidently. "You're not afraid of me, are you?" I feigned shock comically as Marcus shied away. He giggled and shook his head "no".

"Does your dog bite?" Layla asked.

"No," I replied as I struggled to stand. "She's very gentle. Would you like to pat her?"

The children looked up at their mother, and she nodded approval.

"Henry says that you're far from home?" Yvonne began conversationally as we moved toward the community center.

"Yes," I replied.

"You don't have any family here?"

"No. My parents died when I was young." Another tidbit for Henry to digest.

"No brothers or sisters?" I could see her desire to ask about husband and children, but she politely held her tongue.

"No, I was an only child." Ah, the breadcrumbs were dropping.

At that, Layla gazed up at me. "Poor you. _Ohana means family. And family means no one gets left behind._ You got left behind."

Out of the mouths of babes. Gee, thanks kid. You have no idea.

Yvonne pressed her lips together in a quiet smile and shooed the children into the community center with the others.

"Sorry about that. A quote from tonight's movie," Yvonne clarified. "_Lilo and Stitch_. Layla's favorite. I think she has half the dialogue memorized. Come, I'll introduce you around while Henry and the others get the barbeque going."


	9. 9 - Wounded Souls

**9 – Wounded Souls**

"Down! Everyone down!" The command was clear as the children hit the floor and crawled beneath the tables.

"Is anyone hurt?"

A chorus of "no"s rang out over the pops and bangs as they huddled together.

"Team Two, this is Team One," I shouted into my walkie. "We're under fire. Repeat. We are under fire. No injuries. Twenty children, three adults."

"Team One, Team Two responding. What is the direction of the attack?"

"Southeast. We're blocked in."

"Number?"

"Unknown."

"Hold on Team One, military is advised. Help is on the way."

Gun fire paused for a moment and a canister rolled into the doorway as I glanced over an upturned table.

"Cover!" I yelled and the adults dove to protect the children with their own bodies.

The explosion was deafening, shrapnel and dust being blown in all direction, the small schoolhouse shook, caving by the front door. _Damn, we'd just build this_.

"Julia! Julia!"

I could hear someone call my name, but couldn't see through the debris. Brook? He was behind me near the chalk board when it all started.

"Julia!"

There was banging, someone pounding. A dog barked in the distance. I frantically searched the rubble. Bodies everywhere. Where were the children? These were adults. I scanned the room. This wasn't the school. This was the meeting center, north of Mandera. I looked more closely at the wounded sprawled on the floor, blood pooling and spreading over the uneven ground: representatives from two clans, the mediators, the chiefs - Ganjawi and Mirembe, Peacekeepers – military and civilian. Oh my God! The treaty signing. Panic rose in my chest, and I heard more pops. My body spun and jerked. Looking down, blood stain my right pant leg and the front of my shirt, my body was on fire like I'd never felt.

"Julia!"

My world shook, and I could feel someone near, but I couldn't move. I was down, gasping for every breath.

It was dark, and I was hot, then horribly cold.

"It's okay. I've gottcha."

I could feel an arm under my shoulders, pulling me up. Then, my eyes began to focus. A small light shone from across the room. I struggled to pull myself together, to point at the knapsack on the floor barely an arm's length away.

My rescuer leaned and grabbed the bag, pulling a thin, silver canister from it and strapping the mask to my face as I gasped.

"How much?"

I held up two fingers, and the knob was turned. Oxygen released into the mask, relief to my burning lungs. I began to relax.

"Hell of a dream."

Tears streamed down my face as I was propped in a half-sitting position between two strong legs, leaning against a broad chest. I nodded weakly.

Sugar jumped onto the bed and laid down against my legs, her head on my lap, worried, brown eyes gazing up at me. I stroked her, my eyes fluttering closed, but struggling to remain open.

After a few moments, the pain began to ease, and I removed the oxygen mask, turning the tank off. Wiping my face with the edge of the sheet and taking a sip of water from a bottle on the counter, I checking the time on my phone then turned to face the man.

"I appreciate the help, but it's awfully late for a house call, Sheriff."

Walt swung his long legs off the bed and stood up, obviously uncomfortable with the close quarters. The camper was big enough for one person and a dog. No more. He shifted his feet.

"Storm's coming in over the mountains. Ethan's in the back-country for a few days. Told him I'd keep an eye on things."

"Was I that loud that you heard me from your truck over the thunder?"

He pressed his lips together. "You went to the Rez tonight. Didn't know if you'd be back." He paused for a moment, thinking. "I wanted to make sure your place was okay." He paused again, looking away then turned directly to my eyes. "I know who you are, what you've been through. Guess I was just looking out for ya."

I tipped my head, curious and a bit annoyed. I valued my privacy and my anonymity. "Have I done something suspicious to warrant an investigation?"

"No." Walt's lips twitched up at the corner. "But, you came back. Could'v'been for the landscape. Could'v'been for the company. Just wanted to know why."

"You know, you could have just asked."

"Did. Knew you weren't telling it all, and I wanted more of an answer. I didn't say anything 'cause now I understand. You need anything, you let me know. Does Henry know?"

I shook my head. "No. We're still getting to know each other. I figured I'd start with the easy stuff and ease into the hard stuff."

"He took you to the Rez. Introduced you around. White folks aren't generally welcome there. Invitation only."

"So I noticed." I grinned. "But, it turned out quite nice. Cute movie. Down to earth people."

Walt nodded and moved toward the door. "You going to be okay?"

I pressed my lips together. "No," I smirked, "but that's irrelevant. They say it takes time. The thunder must have triggered it."

Walt nodded absently and stepped from the camper, scratching Sugar between the ears. "Well, okay then… gotta good dog here. Thought she wasn't going to let me in at first. You two have quite a story."

I huffed a small chuckle. "Ya, two wounded souls. Just how much do you know?"

"Enough to know you're impressive." He read my expression well. "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

"It's not really a secret. Anyone with internet and my name can find out about me. I just don't advertise; try not to draw attention to myself. That's why I only use my last name when I need to." I paused, watching the quiet man. "You either asked Ethan or ran my plates." My lips twitched up.

"Plates." He smirked back, his eyes taking on an amused twinkle.

My smile broadened. "Thank you for your discretion, Sheriff."

I held the door as he tipped his fingers to the brim of his hat and wandered back to his truck.

Closing the door, and reaching for the lock, I noticed it was broken from Walt's entrance. I'd have to fix that in the morning. After jury-rigging the latch, I climbed back in to bed, laying flat on my back, Sugar curled at my side. I stared at the ceiling for a long time listening to the thunder roll in the mountains, the occasional crack jolting both me and my shell-shocked dog. Eventually, exhaustion took over, and we fell asleep curled into each other for comfort.

The rain pelted the roof of the ProLite Mini for two days, a torrential downpour that knocked out the internet and had Sugar nervously curled in a ball against my legs. _If she were any closer, she'd be on top of me,_ I snorted shifting to relieve the numbness caused by her weight. Even having the shelter of thick pine overhead, the deluge soaked through and battered the little camper. Rivulets formed and ran downhill taking layers of earth and mud with it. The awning of the camper sagged. Thank goodness I had foresight to attach a plastic tarp on the mosquito netting when I first saw the dark clouds roll in. I had even dug a small trench around it, but the force of the rain soaked the ground and overran my attempts to stay dry. Our occasional pee breaks were wrought with a routine of dodging for cover and toweling off before climbing back into our little shelter. Mud got trekked in anyway. I'd need to clean as soon as the rain stopped.

Forced confinement, however, was a blessing in disguise. That nightmare had hurt in many ways, and I needed the time to recoup – both mentally and physically. And although, I had only inherited Sugar six months ago, she was a kindred spirit, another wounded soul in need of healing. Sugar had been part of a team, as well. She and her partner, Spice, yes Sugar and Spice, were bomb sniffing dogs with the United Nations in New York. Spice had been killed in the line of duty at the delegate function last summer when he sniffed out explosives that had been snuck in through the kitchen at the Millennium Plaza. Sugar went into a deep depression afterwards, and her handler felt it was time for her to retire, ending an impressive eight-year career. I smiled stroking her ears. She had about as many awards and accolades as I did. When we met, the bond was instant, even though I wanted to deny the connection. I was so desperate to go home to Kenya that I didn't want to make attachments here, but it didn't take long. She quickly became my other half. I snuggled down, curling my body to hers, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing, and fell back to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10 - Exposed

**10 - Exposed**

Days passed. Then a week. Rain either had people seeking shelter at the Red Pony or kept them away depending on the day. Plans for the rodeo entertainment were coming together nicely. Bands had been lined up. Good ones. No experimental chances this time around. The mechanical bull had been rented and was due to arrive at the end of the week, and the hay bales had been reserved from a nearby ranch.

Kelly was counting the liquor bottles behind the bar, taking inventory of the new arrival of stock. Carl was in the large, walk-in freezer in the back of the kitchen making certain to have enough steaks and burgers, the food staple for the duration of the rodeo, with fries or baked potatoes on the side, of course. Tommy had proven invaluable and had grown over the past few weeks with his new responsibilities, taking pride in ensuring that the floor was clean and tables scrubbed. Henry was proud of him. Chances. Sometimes that's all people needed.

Henry sat at his desk, glasses on the end of his sharp nose, his round face tipped over the files in front of him. Invoices. Bills. The mundane but necessary paperwork of running a business. He took it in stride. To have one required the other. Balance of life. He glanced at the clock. Three fifteen. He'd been at it since noon. Leaning back, he removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. The angles in his face deepened with the fatigue.

"Looks like you could use a break." The quiet voice startled him, and he lowered his hands to the desk.

_Caught_, he thought. "I have not called. I am sorry." He tipped forward reaching to gather the papers. "Every time I think of it, either something comes up or it's midnight." Lame excuse, but true. It had been more than a week since her visit to the Rez, and he hadn't even taken the time to pick up the phone. That wasn't like him.

Julia's lips curved gently upward, her denim blue eyes sparkled as she casually leaned against the doorframe, arms folded across her chest. "You told me you were going to be busy. And, the rain…" She grinned. "I've never seen so much rain! That must have put a damper on things, if you'll excuse the pun."

Henry smiled, scooping the files into a pile, placing them on the right corner of his desk. "That is no excuse for being rude or inconsiderate."

She tipped her head to the left looking completely at ease; that curved mouth looking more inviting. God, he was an idiot for not calling.

Stepping through the threshold, she took a seat in a chunky, wooden chair opposite him, shifting to the left to take the weight off of her right side. Dampness and the morning's workout at the gym had made her back and leg twinge. Leaning her left elbow onto the arm of the chair, she smiled impishly, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

"So," she smirked "What would your boss say if he saw you behind his desk?"

Henry placed his glasses on the table top and leaned back, lacing his fingers across his hips, his own lips twitching up. "Somehow, I do not think he would mind." They paused, taking a moment, watching each other. "How long have you known?"

Julia shifted slightly. "Known and suspected are two different things. I have suspected for some time, but you just confirmed that suspicion."

"Well played." His nodded slowly, his dark eyes taking on a sparkle.

"No, not played," Julia seriously replied, her brow furrowing slightly. She had no intention of playing him. "Observation. I also suspect that you had reasons for not telling me, and suspect I know what those reasons might be."

He remained silent, watching, waiting.

"You are a man of position and authority," she continued. "A person people look up to, respect, but also one with a great capacity for compassion. I believe you saw an opportunity to be seen as… simply put… you. I didn't know who you were or what you had, and in that, I merely accepted the man. You didn't lie; you simply didn't embellish. Yes, you do work at the Red Pony, and as owner, you probably do do everything." She smiled thinking of his usual response to her question, _so, what do you do?_

There was a moment of silence, black eyes studying her carefully. "You are very astute," he quietly said.

She nodded slowly. "A person's humanity is measured by the way he handles himself as well as how he relates to those around him: people, animals, the earth. Respect and compassion are important. When we first met, it was over the well-being and safety of a dog. When confronted by the owner, you stood your ground, spoke well, and stayed calm. You showed strength and diplomacy. You took an interest in a stranger, and I experienced your kindness and concern when I left for New York. You involve yourself in the future and well-being of the youth – Tommy, your niece and nephew, children at the center. You are a loyal friend, are diverse in helping others, and still find time to support family and tradition." She paused, letting him absorb her words. "Henry, I respect that, and I like you for you, not for what you have."

He inhaled slowly, deeply, his attention still fixed on her. Maybe she did understand … actually, she pretty much nailed it on the head.

"You are a wise woman, Julia Farine."

She gave him a lopsided smirk. "So I've been told. I, too, have a great capacity for compassion and understanding. Kind of a job requirement." She shrugged. "I'm pretty good at reading people."

Henry's lips eased upward. "Okay." His eyes gleamed. "What am I thinking now?"

Julia pressed her lips together, and drew a slow breath through her nose. "You would like to know more about me."

"As I said, a wise woman." He nodded slowly.

"I've already told you quite a bit. What else would you like to know?" She shifted again in the hard seat, her back starting to cramp.

Henry leaned onto his right elbow, bringing his fingers thoughtfully to his lips, tapping.

"How does a humanitarian aid worker get so badly injured that she is sent away, not permitted to return, and after nearly a year, is still apparently recovering? You still have the limp. Not as pronounce as before but still there."

Wow. Direct hit.

Julia nibbled her bottom lip. Something she rarely did, and could feel her heart banging in her chest. _Where to begin? What to say?_

"I was in the right place, at the right time, with a really bad outcome." Her voice cracked at the end, her heart forcing the breath from her pained chest.

Henry patiently waited, never wavering.

"I really don't like talking about it."

They sat in silence; a moment… two.

She sighed heavily, arms protectively folded across her chest. "Fine," she finally said. "I was shot."

Henry's eyebrow rose. He hadn't expected that, but stayed quiet waiting for more.

"My team was mediating the signing of a peace treaty between two feuding clans. A third party didn't want the treaty to go through and attacked. Six dead. Thirteen injured. I was one of the thirteen." It was like a dam breaking. The information spewed forward.

"That does not sound like the job of an aid worker."

"Just one of the hats I wear… wore." Julia sighed, correcting herself. "I work with the UN and was a Mission Director in charge of situation analysis and distribution of aid through northeastern Kenya. In that capacity, I was in close contact with tribal leaders and in a position to mediate and negotiate peaceful terms so that all were treated fairly and with respect. It took some convincing to get these two tribes to sit down and discuss their situation, years of negotiation for a treaty. They were nicknamed the Hatfields and McCoys of Mandera because the feud had gone on for so long. When they realized that they were being manipulated by the third tribe, they banded together to stop it. We thought we had dealt with the threat. We were obviously wrong."

Henry pressed his lips tightly together. Small lines at the corner of his eyes deepened. United Nations. Impressive. Tribes. She understood the intricacies of tribal life. That explained so much.

"Was the treaty signed?" He solemnly asked.

Julia's haunted eyes brightened, and a smile stretched across her face. "Yes, and it's still in effect and honored today. That's what Brook called about the other night."

He returned the smile. "And with such success, they still will not let you return? It sounds like you are very good at your job."

"It's easy to be good at something you enjoy." She paused. She hadn't expected to say this much, but he was so patient, willing to let her get it out at her own pace. "No, they won't send me back." She took another breath feeling the pain of each of the wounds. "I took five bullets. Ended up in a coma for a week, was in a hospital for months, in a wheelchair until January. I wasn't supposed to live let alone ever walk again. I've satisfactorily been proving _"the powers that be"_ wrong. And, to top it all off," she grinned sadly, almost apologetically, trying to make the heavy situation lighter, "I suffer from PTSD. I have a pretty good handle on it most of the time but try to avoid crowds and sharp sounds. Fourth of July was a bitch."

The truck backfiring. The snap of the screen door at the community center. He knew there was something wrong when she nearly dropped to the ground at the sound, but she had covered her reaction well. Now, he understood.

"Wow. I really didn't expect to unload like that." She released a breath like a weight had been taken from her.

"And, still, you want to return?" Henry cocked his head curiously.

"Yes. It's what I do, who I am. It's my home. They're my friends, my family. I had no one here. No one. But sadly, I know, deep down that part of my life is over."

There was more, left unsaid, but she'd said enough for now. He could see the pain, the loss, in her eyes.

Henry stood and walked around the edge of the desk, stopping beside Julia's chair, his heart going out to her. She had lost everything and was struggling to put her life back together. A vulnerable situation that he knew he should be careful with, but he needed to reach out. It was who his was. Holding his hand palm up, he silently invited her to take it. She complied, and he gently pulled her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her in comfort. Her head nestled contentedly in the hollow of his shoulder, and she absorbed his strength. What could he say? What words of wisdom could he impart to her? She had been through so much, and he had a feeling there was much more to be told. But, there was nothing he could do but stand there, holding her, letting her know that she was not alone, that she had a place here, that someone cared.


	11. Chapter 11 - Fitting In

**11 – Fitting In**

Wow! I was using muscles I hadn't used in a long time. I was _so_ going to feel it tomorrow, but it felt so good.

My arms shook, and I stretched, arching my back, feeling the sun hot on my face. Sweat drained from every pore making my skin slick and salty. I closed my eyes and inhaled the sweet air deeply, purifying my lungs. Oh ya. This felt so good.

"Mine!"

"No! Mine!"

"No, you stupid squat. MINE!"

"I'm telling Mom you called me a name."

"Did not!"

"Did so!"

I inhaled again, my eyes slowly opening to the intrusion into my thoughts. Crossing my wrists and leaning onto the handle of the shovel, I observed Marcus and Layla in hand-to-hand combat, a full-fledged tug-of-war over something they obviously both wanted.

I stuck the shovel into the dirt and stepped over the string line onto the packed clay of the side yard. Sugar lay in the shade of Yvonne's small, clapboard house, head up, alert to the children's fight. I reached the two in about five strides just as Marcus raised his hand to strike his sister.

"Oh, no, you don't," I called out as Yvonne's slim frame stepped from the screened front door with a tray of lemonade.

The children pouted but took a step back, glaring at each other.

Marcus, all of four years old, had one fist balled at his side, the other tightly gripping an object, his face twisted in anger, chin jutted toward his sister. Layla, three years older, also retain a death grip on the object, chin raised defiantly, superiorly at her brother. A stand-off.

"Hmmm," I said as I approached. "This looks dangerous. But, I'll tell you this," I crouched to level myself with the children, "Marcus, if you hit Layla, that'll just get you in trouble and whatever it is you're fighting over, well, you'll have to give it up because you'll probably be punished. And, Layla," who started to say something smug to her brother, "standing up for yourself is good, however, sometimes it helps to have someone else step in to help sort things out, especially when dealing with someone younger."

"I always have to let him have my stuff because he's littler. It's not fair." She angrily pouted, stamping her foot into the dirt. "It's mine, and I want to play with it."

"MINE!" Marcus shouted, pulling the object, hoping to pry it from Layla's hand.

Yvonne stepped down the stairs and put the tray on makeshift table, watching us with interest.

"May I see what it is?" I asked politely, letting the children decide whether to hand it to me or not. They glared at each other but slowly passed it over. I pressed my lips together to hide a chuckle as I took the object. "Layla, you say this is yours." The little girl nodded vigorously, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "And Marcus, you say this is yours." I held the toy up for both children to see.

"Mine." His voice was now a soft whisper as he lowered his eyes and scuffed the toe of his beat-up running shoe into the packed dirt.

"I see." I held the toy between them, examining it curiously. "I've never seen anything like this before. Can either of you tell me what it is?"

"It's Stitch from the movie we saw the other night," Layla began. "If you…"

I gently held my hand up to stop the little girl. She'd already identified it, and I could tell it was hers, a toy from her favorite movie. "Marcus, can you tell me something about the toy?"

Marcus pouted. "Mine," he repeated.

Layla clucked and sighed, rolling her eyes as she reached to take the toy from me. I held it out of her reach. She scowled, looking over at her mother for help, but Yvonne stood patiently watching the proceedings. Layla sighed again, angrily crossing her arms over her thin chest. "There's a button on his back. If you press it, extra arms pop out his sides."

I pressed the button and suddenly Stitch had six arms. I pressed it again, and the extra arms disappeared. I repeated the action a couple of time, and began to smile. Reluctantly, so did the children.

"So, Marcus… who does this belong to?"

Marcus' lips were pressed together, but I could see the thoughts churning as his chin moved.

"Layla." His voice was low. His head was dipped toward.

"Look at me and tell me straight. I'm not mad, but you need to speak up. Who does it belong to?"

Marcus looked up, black bangs low over his forehead, tears swimming in his dark eyes, a big pout over a shaky chin. "Layla's."

"So, then it goes back to Layla." I handed the toy over to a satisfied little girl. Marcus opened his mouth to protest. "Now, hold on." I said to both of them. "Sometimes when there is only one toy and two people, it's a good thing to share. But, it's also very important to respect each other's stuff. Do you know what that means?" Layla nodded, but Marcus just looked at me. "It means you ask first and take care of things, so when you do want to borrow something, you can be trusted. Now, Layla, who were you going to play with?" The little girl shrugged. "Can you play with your brother for a little while?"

Her brows furrowed, and she frowned. "With what? I was going to play with Lilo _and_ Stitch."

"What other toys do you two have that can work together? Barbie? GI Joe? Action figures?"

Marcus' eyes suddenly beamed, and he became attentive and hopeful. "I have Ironman, an' the Hulk. Grrr," He took the Hulk body-building pose making a mean face and growling.

"Layla, what if Ironman and the Hulk tried to save Lilo and Stitch from the bad guys? I'll even build a small shelter for you two to play in over by the side of the house."

Layla's eyes glowed at the suggestion that I would build something for them. "Really?"

"Sure. Yvonne, do you have a couple of big towels or an old sheet that we could use?"

"I have a drop cloth in the lean-to. I'll get clothespins, too."

"Perfect," I called as the children scattered to get their toys, and Yvonne went in search of the cloth.

With the makeshift tent assembled in the shade of the house, Layla and Marcus played while Yvonne and I sat sipping lemonade. I had originally come out to help Yvonne build a small garden, but now as we rested, there was a peaceful silence between us, the same sort of comfortable silence I had with her brother. It felt nice.

"You know, you'd make a good mom. Ever thought of it?" Yvonne curiously asked.

I nodded slowly, gazing across the short, brown grass of the lowlands, thoughts drifting to another place and time. Long ago. Painful memories. Long buried.

I inhaled and shook myself quickly, smiling and drawing myself back. "I have hundreds of children, all over East Africa." I grinned. Bad memories replaced with good. The fights and the victories. Hard, satisfying work. Villages. Schools. Refugee camps. Factories. Freed bonded laborers. So many children. All those I had helped over the years, filling the void that had been created by a suicide bomber.

Watching the brief flicker of pain quickly come and go from her new friend's face, Yvonne settled back into her seat, stretching her long, lean legs in front of her, rotating her feet. "You know, you're okay for a _ve'hoe'ame._" She smirked into her glass, taking another sip of the cool liquid as she gazed across the half-dug garden.

I snorted, lemonade almost coming out of my nose. "_Ve'hoe'ame_?" I laughed. "Really? Honey, you do what I do for a living, and the best thing to be is colorblind. I've dealt with far too many people to care about skin color. _Ve'hoe'ame_." I snorted again as she grinned at me. White woman.

It was late afternoon when we finished turning the last of the soil in the twenty-by-twenty foot plot. And, this was supposed to be small… We had mixed in some natural fertilizer from the horses' paddock nearby, and Yvonne laughed, expecting me to turn my nose up at the smell as we shoveled the manure into an old, rusty wheelbarrow. I surprised her by digging in and dumping the contents into the thick clay and sand of her newly formed garden. Nothing could stop me now. I was on a mission, one that made me feel useful and productive again. It was a good feeling, and we were almost done.

As we worked in unison, hoeing the last of the rows, Henry's pale green pickup bounced over the road toward his sister's. He had hired a number of local men to help prepare for the upcoming rodeo and offered to drive whoever could fit into the truck. Now, it was drop-off time. Lester, Yvonne's husband, sat in the passenger seat, his head nearly touching the roof, and as they stopped, men of all ages and sizes, piled out, waving and calling to each other as they went their separate ways. Yvonne and I reached the end of the plot at the same time, and smiled satisfactorily at each other. Done. Hell of a day. I was _so_ going to feel this tomorrow.

Henry and Lester approached, all smiles, then rapidly backed away, tanned hands covering their noses and mouths, waving off the smell of manure. Yvonne seductively sauntered toward her husband, long black hair messily pulled back in a ponytail, dirt smudged on her cheeks, a mischievous grin glowing in her obsidian eyes.

"What's wrong, dear?" she asked, getting closer. "Didn't we do a good job?"

"Marvelous," he choked, still backing away from his wife. "Shower. Hose. Soap. Henry. Help!" The tall, wiry man laughed as he dodged his slender wife and was chased to the side of the house.

Grabbing the hose from the external faucet, he turned it on full force and sprayed Yvonne who squealed, drawing the children's attention. Within minutes, there was a full out water fight, with the Yvonne retaliating with the empty lemonade pitcher filled at the hand pump, and the children filling their glasses from the kiddie pool adding their bit into the fray. Laughter and shrieks filled the air.

Henry and I watched from the sidelines, entertained by the family fun.

"You really do smell," Henry finally said grinning at me.

"Maybe so, but look at what we did? They'll have fresh vegetables by the end of summer and into the fall."

"True…but you really do smell." There was a playful gleam in Henry's eyes as he lunged forward grabbing me around the waist and easily tossing me over his shoulder. He moved smoothly, rapidly, long legs making purposeful strides. "Out of the way, kids," he commanded. "She is going in!"

Marcus and Layla squealed with delight and jumped out of the pool just in time for Henry to pull me from his shoulder and tossed me in. There wasn't much water left, and as I lay on my back laughing, struggling to get up, Yvonne turned the hose on me.

"_Eno'eetahe!_" I laughed slipping on the plastic surface. "Not fair! Henry is still dry!"

Immediately, Yvonne turned the hose on her brother, and it was one, big, dripping, free-for-all of soaking each other. Even Sugar got into the act by jumping in the kiddie pool with me and giving a big shake.

An hour later, dried and changed, Henry and Lester gathered more wood for the roasting fire, while Yvonne and I set the table outside in the cool, summer air, upwind and on the other side of the house from the smell of manure. Lester sniffed at the meat that had been grilling over the low flame for the past hour.

"I thought we were having chicken tonight?" he asked.

"We are," Yvonne responded. "I didn't know what to make so Julia took care of it. She brought the salads as well."

"You cook?" Henry raised his eyebrows in surprise.

I returned the expression at his flippant comment. "Of course. Why does that surprise you?"

He tipped his head and shrugged. "Because, you hardly eat. I do not believe I have ever seen you eat anything larger than what can fit on a side plate."

I smiled. "Just small portions." I shook my head. "But, this…" I spread my hands toward the food. "This is my kind of food. Before I left New York, my assistant helped me gather some staple foods that I didn't think I could find out here. Spices and grains, mostly." I pointed to the fire and table, identifying what was laid out. "_Kuku choma,_ well marinated, slow roasted chicken. _Biryani, _a seasoned, spiced rice_. _Both can be served hot or cold. Tomato salad. Simple but tasty. _Maandazi_, fried flatbread. You can dip it in any of the sauces. I hope you like it."

"Smells great." Lester rubbed his leathered hands together and lifted the spit off the fire, sliding the meat onto a serving plate to put on the table.

It was a pleasant meal. Good food, friendly conversation. I was feeling very at home and comfortable. Henry's family had accepted me, and it felt good to fit in. Lester said that the chicken reminded him of a dish his grandmother used to make, and the bread was similar to bannock. The children didn't like the rice, cooked raisins and spices, but devoured the tomato salad. Everyone was surprise to discover that tomatoes were actually a basic food and one sold in markets throughout Kenya, as was kale and collard greens. Even thousands of miles away, some things stayed the same.

After dinner, Lester stirred the fire in the pit, and we sat around it enjoying the quiet as the sun began to set over the short, pale brown grass: orange and gold horizon fading into purple and dark blue heavens, hints of red streaking through the high, cumulus clouds. _Red sky at night_ - it would be another nice day tomorrow. Marcus had climbed onto my lap, snugged in, and fell asleep. My arms absently wrapped around the little boy as Layla cuddled next to Henry. Even Sugar had curled at my feet, snoring away. It had been a long, busy, productive day.

"So, when did you learn Cheyenne?" Henry quietly broke the silence, waking me from a light doze.

I cocked my head sideways, looking over Marcus' slumped figure, gazing at Henry's golden face glowing in the snap of flames. I shrugged lightly, my lips quirking to the left. "Just a few words… for now." I smirked playfully.

"Why?"

"Why not?" I smiled

"You are a curiosity." Henry shook his head, and we drifted into silence again.


	12. Chapter 12 - Cowboys and Chaos

**12 – Cowboys and Chaos**

The Sheriff's white and brown Dodge Ram raced down the highway. It was customary for the rodeo riders and their crews to hire on at local ranches or unhitch their trailers at the rodeo grounds, but some of the wannabe cowboys would head to the woods and create havoc.

Ethan had called from the Red River National Park. Some good ol' boys where getting progressively drunk, and shots had been fired. Even with hiring extra manpower for the duration of the rodeo, the former Army Ranger was still overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of the group.

Walt saw the sign for the park entrance up ahead nestled in a tall grove of Lodgepole pine, and skidded left onto the hard-packed road. Vic, his only female deputy, was holding on for dear life in the passenger seat as the truck tilted with the turn.

"Geez, Walt!" she cried out. "Ethan's trained military. I think he can handle a couple of jackasses until we get there. And, I'd like to get there in one piece."

Walt gripped the steering wheel as they hit a bump, and Vic bounced out of her seat.

"Walt! Slow down! Is there something else going on that I don't know about? Has someone been killed? Hostages? What?"

The Ram came to an abrupt halt in front of the small, dark brown ranger's station and check-in booth at the opening of the woods. A worried, young attendant in a green park uniform stuck his head out and cautiously looked up the empty road then back to the Sheriff's truck.

"Ranger Ford and three other wardens are in the forest. He asked me to give you this." The attendant handed Walt a walkie talkie the size of a 1980's mobile phone. Walt passed it to Vic.

"Any more shots fired?" he flatly asked.

The attendant rapidly nodded.

"Have any of the campers left or been moved?"

"Some have left, but not many."

"Site 62?" Walt asked ignoring Vic's curious gaze.

The attendant pulled back into the cabin then reemerged with a wooden clipboard in his hand. "Nope, still here."

Walt frowned grabbing the walkie talkie. "Ethan, it's Sheriff Longmire. Where are you?"

There was a crackle of static, and after a moment, Ethan's whisper was heard. "Back lots. Past 145. Freakin' idiots are target shooting anything that moves."

"That include you?"

"Yes, Sir. We announced ourselves, approached, and got shot at. Missed by a mile, but I don't want anyone hurt, so we backed off. Been trying to talk with them, but they're not listening."

"How many?" Walt put the truck into gear and began to roll down the camp road.

"Eight, but only three doing any shooting. The others are just being stupid."

"Okay, we'll be right there."

The road was packed gravel, rutted in spots but otherwise pretty smooth. The gravel forced the driver to maintain a reasonably slow speed of 10 mph. Walt was doing about 20.

Reaching a bend in the road, he slowed seeing a familiar little camper tucked cozily into the white pine. Frowning, he pulled into the site ignoring a confused complaint from Vic. Hauling the truck door open, he strode to the ProLite.

"Julia?" he firmly announced his approach. "Julia, it's Walt. You there?"

He stopped in a small clearing about ten feet from the camper, hands on hips, hip cocked to the left, waiting. The door cracked open, and a pale-faced, visibly shaken Julia stepped out, two knapsacks over her shoulder and an aluminum briefcase in her right hand.

"Good, you're getting you out of here." Walt shifted, looking around for the dog.

"I'm not stupid. I'm just not sure where to go. All the hotels are booked." Julia quickly shortened the distance between them, her confident stride belying her obvious concern.

"Go to the Sheriff's office. We'll figure it out from there. I gotta get up the road." A couple of more pops rang through the trees, and Julia visibly flinched. "Don't worry." He tipped his head reassuringly. "We'll take care of it, but I want you gone. Understand?"

"Understood." She nodded and quickly walked to her car, Sugar's head popping up in the back window.

Walt turned and swung himself back into his truck, putting it into gear and watching in the rearview mirror as Julia's blue Ford Escort turned out of the site and headed in the opposite direction, toward the exit.

"What the hell was that all about? We have shots fired, and you stop to make a social call?" Vic complained.

"Shots fired." Walt nodded once. "She needed to leave."

"She's a big girl. She could make that decision for herself, and obviously was," Vic huffed her disapproval.

Walt stared at the road ahead; grip tight on the steering wheel. He had made himself a promise when he'd found out who Julia was. He would do whatever he could to watch out for her. She deserved that much. Hell, she'd earned it.

The ride into town was long and hot. The few hotels/motels I passed along the way flashed _no vacancy_ signs and parking lots were packed with pickup trucks and horse trailers. Henry had warned that the town would become a hub of activity over the next two weeks, and he was excited about the boon in business. Now that the fair and rodeo were in full swing, he was even more preoccupied, spending every moment at the Red Pony, overseeing the staff and the crowd. The few times we'd spoken on the phone, he sounded tired but happy, busy. His mood was contagious, and I found myself happy for him.

Durant was buzzing with activity as I slowly cruised Main Street in search for a parking spot. A wide banner hung across the main thoroughfare advertising _Durant's 22__nd__ Annual County Fair and Rodeo_. The air was like static. It made me nervous. Too many people.

It was dinner time; streets were crowded, restaurants were full, and parking was nearly impossible. As I circled the town square for a second time, I noticed a white pickup on the far side pulling out. Luckily, by the time I completed the block, the spot was still free, and I easily pulled in.

Hauling Sugar's knapsack onto my back, and leaving mine on the floor in the backseat, I grabbed the aluminum case, balancing it in my right hand and Sugar in my left. Glanced across the street, we half jogged to the opposite sidewalk. I hoped that everyone at the campground was alright. So much senseless violence in the world. People just didn't think. I snorted derisively. This wasn't the first time I'd had to evacuate quickly from a battle zone, although, I didn't think this even remotely qualified. Just a couple of dumb shmucks with guns. Stupid.

Dodging the crowd on the sidewalk, I paused outside of the grey stone building that housed the Sheriff's office. Impulsively detouring, and passing a very busy Busy Bee Café, I headed for a small bakery almost hidden between the hardware store and a children's clothing shop. I'd discovered this little treasure about a month ago and made regular purchases. Tying Sugar to the lamp post, I stroked her head affectionately and entered the tiny store.

The little bell above the door jingled, and the smell of warm yeast immediately struck my nostrils. I inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma. A woman in her early thirties emerged from an open doorway in the back of the bright shop; her strawberry blonde hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, a red and white striped apron covering a fitted, white t-shirt and navy Bermuda shorts. She smiled broadly, dusting the flour from her hands onto the apron.

"Well, hello there," she greeted. "Just in time. I've just taken a rack of whole wheat bread out of the oven."

"I can smell it." I grinned. "But, not today."

Instead, I perused the delights in the glass case under the long counter, the woman watching me patiently. After choosing a selection of sweet rolls and donuts, they were placed in a box and tied with a red string. Paying the woman, I left the small piece of heaven, and was taken aback by the sight outside the store. Panic shot through me. Two young cowboys had untied Sugar's lead and were trying to entice her with a treat. She refused, remaining seated even when they pulled on her.

"Stupid dog. Come on." They pulled again.

My blood boiled. "Personally, I think she's quite smart. Refusing to go with strangers." I stepped between the men and the dog, my face stone-like, my stance firm, an invisible force moving them back. "By the way," I glared, "she's mine."

The men leered, cocky. One retained hold on Sugar while the other eased closer, rocking on his heels, thumbs hooked into the belt loops of his Levis, glancing over his shoulder for approval, encouragement, from his friend. "Maybe _you'd_ like to have a treat." He grinned, tipping his Stetson back with a finger, stopping close enough for me to see his barely healed acne.

I didn't retreat but stood nose to nose with the boy (I couldn't really call him a man), a few people beginning to gather to watch the proceedings. I'd spent my life dealing with arrogant men a lot more powerful and dangerous than these two yahoos.

"What I want is for you to release my dog and step away from us." I stayed cool, refusing to break eye contact, a clear show of dominance.

The closest cowboy chuckled, glancing again at his friend, but when he turned back to me, he stood face to chest with a six-foot-plus Indian in his early twenties, short cropped hair, strong build; a young man I'd seen a few times, mostly at the gym. He seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, and had somehow stepped between me and the cowboy making the smaller man take a noticeable step back.

"Release the dog and walk away," he calmly ordered, standing to his impressive, full height, lean muscles straining his button-front shirt, looking down at the other man.

The cowboys began to protest but with the growing crowd, a clear confrontation, and their emerging cowardice, they gave up, ambling back to their truck, sneering and muttering, and finally pulling out.

"Thank you." I took Sugar's lead as he silently handed it to me.

"You're welcome." He nodded gazing at me intently.

"Do I know you?" I asked. There was something about him: his look? Demeanor? Something that was familiar.

His haunted eyes never left mine. "No," he replied then turned and quietly walked away.

Curious.

Stroking Sugar's head and taking her lead, I balanced the packages, my blood still pounding from the confrontation, and continued the path to our original destination.

Climbing the wooden stairs to the wide portico of the Sheriff's office, I paused before going in. My partner gazed up at me with confidence as I pushed the door open, and walked into a wood paneled room with several desks and two people in attendance.

A middle-aged woman in a light blue shirt and new jeans, short, wavy, brown hair, sat at a desk facing the door, manning the phone; obviously the secretary and dispatch person. The other individual was a portly, young deputy whom I had seen a few weeks before at the BBQ in the park. Seeing me enter, he quickly rose, and did his best goldfish impersonation.

"Ma'am. You… here…" He quickly gathered himself. "Welcome." He extended his hand.

"You must be Julia." Ruby, the secretary, had crossed the room to greet me. "Come on in. Walt said you'd be coming by. Can I get you a coffee?"

"No, thank you." I smiled politely, offering her the bakery box. "My mother always said, _never go anywhere empty handed_. Cliché, but I love the bakery down the street."

Ruby graciously took the box. "_Carmine's. _Thank you. They do have nice stuff." She turned to place it on a table with a coffee machine and paper cups.

"_Carmen's_?" The young deputy eagerly approached. "Hi. I'm Ferg." He introduced himself, holding out his hand. "It's an honor, a pleasure…" he sputtered taking my hand in his and shaking it vigorously. "Wow."

My brows furrowed. The sheriff had said he'd be discreet, that no one knew who I was. Ferg read my expression, and leaned a bit closer, secretively.

"Walt had me run your plates and find the information on you. He doesn't do computers. He said to be quiet about it. But, wow. It's you…here…"

He led me to an available chair and offered me a seat.

"Can I ask you a question?" He sat beside me, Ruby answering another phone call. "I mean, if you don't mind?" I raised my eyebrows to him. "You've done so much. Helped so many people. But, last year?" He shook his head in disbelief. "I mean…how did you survive? You took five bullets."

I turned my head as Ruby hung up and shot us a questioning look. She obviously overheard.

"Kevlar is a wonderful thing." I quietly patted his arm. "Don't ever leave your vest in the car if you're going into an unknown situation or if you feel there might be a risk."

"I saw a news video. It was kind of hard to find. Nairobi News or something. But, wow… scary." He was in awe. "It said you saved a bunch of people by stepping between the insurgents and the other guys. You were unarmed. Even after you were shot, you were still trying to get them out… " he rambled on.

"Ferg," Ruby interrupted seeing my discomfort. "There's an apple cruller over there with your name on it." She tipped her head toward the sweet box and quietly smiled at me. An ally.

It was over an hour before the Sheriff and his deputy came in with three very drunk, very subdued cowboys. The others had been let go with a stern warning, but Walt couldn't overlook or excuse shooting at people. These boys would be held on an assortment of charges starting with disorderly conduct and ending with felony discharge of a firearm with intent to harm, since they'd actually aimed… kind of…at Ethan and his men. But, they'd have to sleep it off first.

Vic tossed the boys into the iron cage and slammed the door shut, smirking at their cringe to the crashing gate.

Walt ran his hands over his face and headed for the coffee machine, spying the box of treats, and opening the lid.

"Thanks, Ruby," he grunted picking up a plain, old-fashion donut.

"Not me," Ruby responded lifting her chin in my direction, smiling genially.

I lowered my book to my lap, and Sugar rose from her prone position to sitting.

"Donuts. Police station. Seemed fitting." I grinned. "You forgot you sent me here, didn't you." I smiled at his puzzled expression.

"No. Yes." He shook his head. "Slipped my mind."

"Other things to think of." I tipped my head to the jail cell where the three jackasses were now curled up on bunks dozing off. Walt's lips twitched up. "Can I go back now?"

He pressed his lips together, mulling things over in his mind. Slowly, the words came out. "I don't think it's a good idea." He placed his hands on his hips. You could almost see the wheels turn in his brain. "Things could be okay, but I'd feel a whole lot better if you found somewhere closer to town to stay. Someplace more secure."

"I understand your concern, but I don't want to impose on anyone. I'll be okay." I got up to leave.

Walt blocked my path. "No." He slowly shook his head again. "I know I can't stop you, but I'd rather…" He sighed. "Stay with me," he blurted out to the shock of everyone in the room.

"Excuse me?" I was taken aback.

"Walt," Vic snorted, "you hardly live close to town."

"She can stay with me," Ferg offered. "I don't mind taking the couch. It'll be an honor."

"Now, hold on," Ruby added. "Do you two hear yourselves? Honey." She reached for my arm, patting it. "You can stay with me."

I took a flustered step back. "Thank you. Everyone. I appreciate the offers, but really I don't want to impose. I've been on my own a long time. I'll be fine."

"No, you won't," a deep, familiar voice sounded behind me. "Walt is right. You are better off closer to town. Somewhere safe. It is time you let someone help you for a change. You need a place. I have a spare room. You will stay with me. If you are uncomfortable with that, then tomorrow, we will go to Red River and get your camper. You can put it on my property, by the house, and stay there for as long as you like. But, for tonight, you will come with me."

It wasn't a request. It wasn't a command. It was simply matter-of-fact. I just stared at him. His face impassive, but a shine in his black eyes.

"Okay," I quietly agreed.


	13. Chapter 13 Home Sweet Home

**13 – Home Sweet Home**

Henry lived on the Rez, just barely, though, enough to say he did, but close to the Absaroka line. I smiled. A foot in both worlds. So "him".

In the month that I'd been in Durant, I'd been to the Rez twice – once for the movie and once to help Yvonne, but never to see where Henry lived. Granted, he'd never been to Red River to see where I lived either. No particular reason. Simply hadn't happened.

I didn't know what to expect, but I'm sure this wasn't it.

As I followed Henry's truck up the road, we turned onto a wide, compressed, gravel drive, and I stared out my windshield at the beautiful, lone house plunked in the middle of open prairie. No neighbors and the sinking sun glowing like a golden halo behind it. His sanctuary.

It was a raised, ranch-style, single level, the color of dry prairie grass. Ten-inch rough clapboard siding. Sage green shutters with horseshoe cutouts framing two large windows on either side of the front door of the same color. Brown shingle roof. A covered balcony that ran the entire length of the building, no railing, just post supports painted the same color as the house. I grinned. It had a porch swing on the left hand side, near the end. Unexpected but somehow not. There were three sets of four steps – one on each end of the balcony, and one in the middle. Inviting and easy access. A stone chimney climbed the right side, a clue to what was inside. The whole place seemed to blend into the environment like a mirage. Muted colors, serene. All that was missing was the picket fence.

Henry got out of his pickup and met me at my car, opening the back door to let Sugar out to explore, and pulling out my bags.

"You need to get out to see the rest." He encouraged opening my door next.

"Very nice." I nodded approval.

"It is comfortable," he replied, returning my smile and leading the way. "I will have to let Mathias know that you are here. A strange car in my driveway will draw attention, and he will investigate."

I climbed the stairs behind Henry. "Vigilant. That's good."

Henry unlocked and opened the front door and held it allowing me to enter first.

Now, _this_ was more like it.

I grinned at the décor. Warm, natural colors. Earth-tones. Browns, beiges, greens, blending easily together. And, the wood – beamed ceiling and trim. A polished, hardwood floor that, from what I could see, ran throughout the entire house. A large, stone fireplace and hearth was the focal point on the far, right wall, shelves crammed with knickknacks and books on either side. Wood framed pictures and landscape paintings, photographs of people were arranged on the crème drywall. Thick, hunter green curtains pulled back from the large picture window in the front of the room. A colorful quilt was thrown over the back of an overstuffed sofa that was almost the same color as the curtains, a matching chair beside, both angled to the fireplace for maximum comfort. A carved, wooden coffee table rested on a leaf-patterned, brown and beige area rug. A great place to kick up your feet.

The main living area stretched all the way through to the kitchen in the back of the house which was a fair size and would have made an experienced chef drool: java brown, hardwood cabinets stretched across the back wall and right side of the room, black and brown flecked granite countertops, a black top, propane range with a brushed steel trim went almost unnoticed it blended so well. Hooks of copper pots, cast iron pans, and an assortment of utensils hung from hooks against a reddish brown brick wall on the left, which also housed the brushed steel refrigerator. Nice balance to the room. An island with the same granite divided the living area from the kitchen, and, there was a square, dining table for two tucked intimately against the wall between the two spaces, a small vase of pebbles decoratively in the center.

Cozy. Definitely comfortable. The type of place you'd enjoy coming home to at the end of a long day.

Henry gently touched my arm, drawing me back.

"I'm sorry." I chuckled. "Was I drooling?"

Henry reached his hand up to playfully wipe the edge of my mouth with his thumb. "Just a little." He seemed pleased with himself. "Come. Your room is right in here."

He led the way down a short corridor on the left and into a small room in the front of the house. Small… it was bigger than my camper. Placing the bags on the quilted, double bed, he curiously fingered the patches on my knapsack, but said nothing.

"Feel free to set up your computer on the desk." He motioned to a small, wooden, student's desk against the wall at the end of the bed beside a three-drawer dresser. "My room is across the hall. The washroom is at the end of the corridor." He continued the tour, then paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "I know that you are unaccustomed to accepting help from others. However, I should have made this offer sooner, knowing that there may be dangers. I was not thinking, and for that, I am sorry. Julia," he turned to face me, "I would like you to stay here, at least for the duration of the rodeo. The campground may or may not be safe, but I would feel more comfortable knowing that you were not in any kind of danger."

I stared at him, not knowing what to say. "We hardly know each other, and yet you open your home to me?"

"I believe I know your heart," he replied seriously. "It is a good heart." His lips twitched up slightly at the corners. "A heart that thought nothing of running on an injured leg to save the life of a dog." A memory that was rooted in his mind from two months ago.

"Let's see how things go," I smiled affectionately at him.

Henry left to return to the Red Pony, leaving me with instructions to "make myself at home"; there was food in the fridge, help myself, television had satellite. He would be late and would try not to wake me when he came in.

Sugar and I stood on the balcony watching him drive away, thinking what a sweet, trusting man he was. We had connected from the start, and my thoughts often drifted to him – day, night, sometimes in my dreams, sometimes just a fleeting wish to communicate with someone, to tell my thoughts, fears, news. This may prove to be a difficult situation, I sighed to myself… but, then again… maybe not…


	14. Chapter 14 - The County Fair

**14 – The County Fair**

Henry stood on the wide balcony, coffee in hand, shoulder leaning against a post closest to the front door, faded red chambray shirt open to show a light grey t-shirt underneath, blue jeans and leather boots. He looked so at ease, hair still tousled by sleep, still a bit tired in the glorious mid-morning sun.

I'd heard him come in last night, somewhere around two-thirty. Sugar went to greet him. I had expected her to raise the alarm at the sound of the front door opening, but she didn't, she growled low in her throat then went to investigate. I could hear whispered assurances, a creak of the wooden floor, then she returned to lay on her blanket on the floor beside me. A sign of trust from a dog that was trained to be suspicious. I'd subconsciously reached my hand over the edge to give her an affectionate pat.

"You were not comfortable last night? Did I wake you?" Henry stepped down from the balcony and crossed the gravel drive, concern lines creasing the corners of his eyes.

I cocked my head questioningly. "Actually, that was the best sleep I'd had in a long time. That's a very comfortable bed. Very quiet area. Almost too quiet compared to the campground." I smiled as I unhitched the ProLite.

"Then, I do not understand. You prefer to sleep in the camper? I said that I would help if you wanted it here."

Uneasiness swept over me. He'd been so kind. Had I offend him? I had left early so I wouldn't disturb his sleep and had tried to be quiet.

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "Last night, I brought what I call a _go bag. _A prepared bag with essentials only: change of clothes, toiletries, medical papers, Sugar's food and papers. Everything else I own is in this camper. I didn't want to leave it unattended at Red River, especially with so many new people around."

Henry saw my distress and closed the gap between us. "I understand, but you are far too independent. I offered my help. You are welcome to bring whatever you need here." He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"You're so busy. I didn't want to take up your time. Plus, I'm an early riser, and you needed your sleep. I figured I'd get it out of the way. This thing is so easy to move." I thumbed toward my seven-by-thirteen foot home.

He shook his head and drew me into a tender, one-armed hug, coffee still in hand. "Actually, I took part of today off to be with you." He took a step back. "When we spoke last night, it occurred to me that I have not asked you to the fair. Work can do without me for a couple of hours. There is a horse show this morning and stock dog trials this afternoon. We can go to one or both. Whatever you would like. Have you ever been to a county fair?"

I shook my head. "I picked up an event flyer at the grocery store last week. There were a couple of things that looked interesting, but for the most part it looks more like an animal competition."

Henry chuckled. "For the most part, you are right. Best cow. Best pig. Best chicken. But, there are other events like the pie eating contest," he chuckled again when I raised my eyebrows at the cliché event, "and a talent show, skills contests, and there are some rides. Do you like rides?" he inquired.

I shrugged. "I don't remember the last time I was on one."

"Have you ever ridden a horse?" Henry asked.

I shook my head no. "I've ridden a camel, though. And, an elephant. Don't suppose those count," I chuckled lightly.

He laughed a deep laugh from the heart. "You're funny, and I believe you, but I think I will have to get you on a horse at some point. The youth rodeo is on Friday morning. A couple of boys from the Rez have entered, and I promised to be there. The seniors' round robin is Friday, as well. It is fun to watch. The rodeo, however, is the main event. That will be on Saturday and Sunday. We can look at the list, and pick and choose what to see. I would love to show you."

I smiled up at him, the steadfast, friendly, easy-going man who had opened his home to me. "It sounds wonderful, but, first things first." I tipped my head toward my home-on-wheels. "Is the camper okay where I've put it?"

Henry turned to where I had parked the ProLite - on the left between the house and what looked like a small garage. There was a good six feet on either side.

He pressed his lips together and nodded. "It is fine. Under one condition," he faced me, wagging a finger, then placed it under my chin tipping my head back to meet his eyes, "understand, you are welcome in the house. Do not feel that you are imposing. If I did not want you there, I would not have made the invitation."

Truth be told, he really did want her there, not just to know that she was safe, but for the company. He liked her. He wanted to spend time with her, but he knew that she'd had a rough time this past year. He wanted to tread carefully, move slowly, let her know that he was there for her. The thought of her across the hall last night, though, had kept him awake a bit longer than usual: the closeness, a restless stomach, tight chest. It bothered him. He took a further step back.

"The horse show is at eleven, we would have to leave soon, and the stock dog trials are at one. How do you feel about leaving Sugar here for a few hours?"

My heart jolted. Leave her behind? "I'll think about it."

But, I didn't have to think long. Following Henry into the house to change, we found Sugar contentedly curled up on a cushion by the fireplace.

He smiled. "I put that down when I got up, and she went right to it. She seems comfortable here," he smirked.

Funny… so did I.

_Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! I'm going to be sick! _The thought kept echoing in my mind as the Tilt-A-Whirl spun and tipped crazily jostling us back and forth on the metal seat. The cargo bay of a C-130 Hercules during turbulence was an easier ride. I white-knuckled the crossbar while Henry grinned at each turn. When the ride finally stopped and the bar lifted, I unsteadily took a step out and quickly landed on my hands and knees. Henry was immediately at my side, arm wrapped around my back, half lifting me back up. Yup. I needed help. Weaving our way off the curved platform, my head still spinning, I couldn't get my balance. I'd vomit if there was actually anything in my stomach.

Henry led me through a curious crowd to a clearing on the edge of the midway, and eased me to the ground. I landed on my butt with a thump.

"Well," I began, "that was an interesting experience." I stretched my back, closed my eyes, and breathed deeply, calming my affronted system.

Henry plopped down beside me, arms resting on his raised knees, a stock of timothy between his lips, a cross between concern and amusement on his face.

"You seriously have never been on these rides before," he stated as this was my third negative reaction.

"Maybe as a kid. Many, many years ago," I groaned recognizing my age and that the world finally came to a halt. "Maybe I'm more the game-type person," I suggested sheepishly.

"Well, I have to say this about you; you do not give up easily." He chuckled lightly.

"Ya, third time's a charm," I deadpanned. "No, I'm not going for a fourth." I playfully wagged a finger at him. "Sorry if that ruins your plans."

He placed a supportive hand on the center of my back. "The only plan I had was to see that you enjoyed yourself. So, it is not on rides. That is okay. You liked the horse show, but I think you will really enjoy the stock dog trials." He stood and held his hand out to me. "They begin in fifteen minutes."

I placed my hand in his, and he hauled me to my feet. I lost my balance again, but was caught in his arms. Dropping one, he kept one arm securely around my shoulders as he steered me out of the carnival section toward the pens on the east side of the fair grounds.

I fondly wrapped my arm around his waist. "Stock dogs," I clarified. "That's herding dogs, right? Keeping the cattle or sheep together. Directing them."

He smiled down at me. "Yes. These dogs are very skilled. It is something to watch. Sugar is highly trained, so I have noticed. She is a service dog? One to help you because of your injuries?"

"Yes and no," I replied. "We've both been traumatized. Sugar was a bomb sniffing dog for the UN in New York. Lost her partner last year in an explosion. Her owner decided to retire her and thought we would be good together. He was right. That's one of the reasons I don't like to leave her alone. It's a feeling of security and trust we have in each other." I smiled warmly at the thought of my dog. "We understand each other."

Henry nodded and felt his heart swell. There was a goodness in this woman that he couldn't deny, a quiet, unassuming pull that she seemed to have over him since the first day they met. He gently rubbed her shoulder, then found the perfect place in the stands to watch the show.

The stock dog trails were amazing! I was in absolute awe of what these dogs could do, and loved every minute of watching them. It was clear they had control, and the cattle knew who the boss was, even if some lowered their horns to stubbornly chase the dog away. They eventually did as they were told. And, by the end of the display, my cheeks were hurting from smiling so much.

Henry covertly glanced at his watch.

"It must be getting late." I pretended not to notice. It was a busy week, and he had a business to run, after all. I was taking up his time. "We should go. Sugar will probably need to be let out."

"You are right," Henry replied tossing a lock of black hair from his forehead. "But, I was hoping you would join me for dinner."

"Maybe we can pick something up along the way." I grinned glad the day wasn't over yet.

Henry nodded, his lips curling up at the corners. He knew just the place.

At five o'clock, Henry and I sat on the big, cushy sofa examining the schedule for the week with Miss Dorothy's country-fried chicken, white gravy, and mashed potatoes laid out on the coffee table. We had decided to skip the following day – a definite animal beauty contest day – beginning with pigs and ending with chickens. Later the same day, there was animal branding which I had absolutely no interest in. I understood its necessity but still found the process disturbing. I'd seen it done on people, too. Truly barbaric. Not something I ever wanted to see again. Thursday was the beef show, a roping contest, the sale consignment finals, and the local fair meeting. No interest to either of us.

So, it looked like Friday would be our next day out. Henry said he'd use the following two days to plan ahead so he'd have no worries about taking the time off. But, he would have to be back at the bar right after the senior round robin as the Red Pony had a tradition of hosting a dance that night…and I was expected to go. He grinned playfully. Western attire, crazy crowds, loud music. Definitely out of my comfort zone, but I think that was his goal, to draw me out more. I would have to plan, too. I had absolutely nothing in my meager wardrobe that would be appropriate. Plus, I had to make sure that Sugar was taken care of and not left for too long. I didn't want her feeling abandoned. I grinned to myself. I'd figure it out. This was all new and exciting.


	15. Chapter 15 - Six

**15 – Six**

"Aaron. Geez. What's with you?" A muscular, young native man in his early twenties dressed in a faded blue, sleeveless t-shirt and black shorts stepped in front on his friend, fifty pound dumbbells still in hand like they were cans of soda. He tipped his head discreetly, talking quietly. "Every time we're here and she's here, you watch her. I mean she's good looking an' all, but geez, man, she's old enough to be your mother."

Aaron shot his friend a look, and returned to his bicep curls, muscles bulging with the effort. "It's not like that," he muttered.

"Really?" His friend lay back on the bench and began a quick set of flies. "You're eyes get glassy, like you're in a different place." He sat up, weights on his thighs, frown on his face. "Is that it? Do you know her from somewhere? I mean, I've seen the way she works out. Focused. Kinda like you. And, with the limp and the scars? Ya gotta wonder."

Aaron ignored his companion and continued mentally counting. When he reached one hundred, he put the weights back on the rack and moved to a machine. His friend followed.

"Ever since you got back from Afghanistan, you've been real quiet, and whenever you see her… you act… weird. Come on, man, what gives?"

Aaron quickly got up from the bench confronting his friend coolly. "Leave it alone," he warned before moving on.

Walt stood on the sidewalk, hands on hips, ever-present Cattleman's hat over his brow, staring out over Main Street watching the people, watching the busyness of his town. He saw Julia exit _The_ _Tone _across the street, wander down a bit looking in shop windows, gym bag over her shoulder. He was relieved that she had agreed to stay at Henry's. One less thing to worry about. A couple of passersby greeted him cordially, wishing him luck in the up-coming election. He nodded back but frowned. Anyone had the right to run against him, but having his own deputy do it behind his back, well, that just wasn't right in his book. And, to top it off, whenever he needed extra hands, Branch never seemed to be around. He still had a job to do, election or not. Walt would make sure he did it.

"Well, look at you. Off in another world," a chipper drawl broke his daze. "What'r you doing out here starin' off into space?"

Walt slowly shook his head. "Nothin'. Just lookin'."

Lizzie slipped her arm into Walt's and stepped closer. "Join me for lunch then," she purred.

Walt looked down at the petit blond. She was beautiful, bubbly, always had a smile for him. He should be interested, but his wife's passing a year back still felt like a fresh wound. He couldn't seem to move on. Not yet anyway. His lips twitched up at her, what would pass as a shy smile.

"Thanks, but I have work to do." He freed his arm from the disappointed woman.

"You goin' to Henry's tomorrow night?" There was hope in her voice.

"I'll be there." He nodded as he walked away.

"I can't believe you agreed to come with me? Are you regretting it yet?" Samantha grinned at an inattentive Ethan as she held two dresses in her hands. "Which one do you like?"

"You want an honest answer or a safe one?" he grinned back.

She narrowed her eyes. "There's a difference?"

"Of course," Ethan casually leaned against the counter of the clothing store, smirking at the sales girl. "Honest tells you my thoughts, no holds barred. Safe tells you what you want to hear regardless of what I really think. Most men go for safe. Gets them in less trouble."

Samantha's eyes narrowed even further. "I'm not sure I want to know anymore," she huffed affably, smirking slightly, turning to the mirror examining the dresses in her reflection.

Ethan split a grin. Ha, he got out of that one easily. That question was along the lines of _Do I look fat in this?_ There was no winning.

The bell above the door jingled, and Samantha glanced then spun to the newcomer. "Perfect!" she cried. "Julia, which do you like better?" blindsiding her friend, holding up the choices.

Julia startled then smiled. "Do you want an honest answer or a safe one?" she asked to her friend's stunned expression.

Ethan roared with laughter slapping his knee, folding over the counter.

"What?" a baffled Julia asked.

Samantha frowned. "Did you two plan that?"

Julia shrugged and smirked. "No, but I've worked with men most of my life. Let me guess? You asked Ethan the same question."

Samantha nodded, still holding the dresses.

"What's the occasion?" Julia moved closer and fingered the flowery material.

"The dance tomorrow night, of course."

"Well, then, you've got me. I have no idea. I came in here looking for inspiration."

"Well, if that's the case, maybe I should leave you two ladies to handle this dilemma without me." Ethan inconspicuously eased his way toward the door of the shop.

"He's trying to escape," Samantha whispered comically. "Thinks he's clever." She grinned.

"Run, Ethan, run!" Julia laughed as he made it to the door, blew his girlfriend a kiss, and slipped out.

The Red Pony was half full. There was still one event left for the day – Team Roping Slack – then Henry figured the place would fill up again. He had hired extra help for the week, and hoped to leave around eleven. He had a big day planned for tomorrow and needed to get up early. Kelly had agreed to close. She had worked for Henry for three years and was not only a great waitress but was his right hand, his assistant manager. He had faith in her, and knew she could handle pretty much anything that came her way, but he would be on call anyway should there be any problems.

"So," Kelly grinned mischievously, "you have a date with Julia tomorrow."

Henry sighed heavily, continuing to wipe the glasses, placing them on the shelf. "Not a date. We are simply going to the Junior Rodeo together."

"Driving in together. Sitting together. Laughing and talking together. Oh, for heaven's sake, Henry," she slapped at him playfully, "admit it. You like her… a lot. It's a date. Is she coming to the dance tomorrow night?"

He mulled the thought over. He knew she didn't like crowds or loud noises. Now that he knew why, he felt a little guilty about making this expectation of her. He didn't know how she would handle it.

"I have asked. She has accepted. We will discuss it more tomorrow."

Kelly grinned and clapped her boss on the shoulder. "She's a sweetie, Henry. Good for you."

Turning to take the order of a customer sitting at the bar, Henry shook his head. A date. Is that what they'd been doing? He was trying to keep things simple, but he couldn't deny the feeling that he had when he thought of her, when he was with her. Yes, he liked her… a lot. He'd be a fool to deny it. He was glad she had come back.


	16. Chapter 16 - Revelations

**16 – Revelations **

It was late, and the parking lot was full. I drove around to the back and pulled in beside Henry's pickup. Smiling, I shook my head. His stamina amazed me.

We were up early, went for breakfast at the Busy Bee, then headed to the fair grounds for the 9am Junior Rodeo. Some of the competitors were as young as seven-years-old. It was remarkable, the skill honed at such a young age. Henry had said that prejudice was high in the competition, but the boys from the Rez had earned their place and some respect amongst their peers. In the end, one of the boys placed third in the calf roping competition. Henry and I jumped to our feet hooting and clapping, pride glowed on his face; you could visibly see his chest swell. _We are community_, radiated from him.

Lunch was a hot dog at the concession, then a quick run to the Red Pony to make certain that everything was set for tonight, a stop at the house to let Sugar out to pee, then back for the 4pm Senior Round Robin, or as many jokingly called it – The Over-The-Hill Show. Even the competitors took it in stride, ribbing each other, and helping each other along. Some were still fiercely competitive, but all in all it was a lot of fun.

Once the show was over though, we went back to the house where Henry showered and changed into his good Levis, red and black plaid shirt, and leather vest, then headed back to the bar. I took Sugar for a walk, played fetch with her for a while, fed her, then collapsed onto the sofa and fell asleep for an hour. I snorted. There was once a time, not all that long ago, when a sixteen hour work day was normal. Now, I could hard stay awake past ten.

Looking at the glowing numbers on the dashboard, it was ten now, and that power nap was holding fast. Now, I could stay later, and Henry and I could leave together when the bar closed.

Getting out, my heels sunk into the sandy back lot, and I shook my head. What had I allowed Samantha to talk me into? She said the three-inch heeled boots made my legs look endless, and at five-foot-five to Henry's six-one, I could use the help. I hadn't gone for a dress, as she had, but bought a pair of well-fitting blue jeans (my first in years) and a sleeveless, white, vintage blouse with a low scooped neck. Four small, pearl buttons fastened the tiny pleats and cotton lace that adorned the front. A cotton string gathered the soft material at the waist, the excess draping gently over my hips. It showed off my developing tan nicely, even if I did have to cover it for now with a borrowed, oversized jean jacket from Samantha. In a native craft shop on the main thoroughfare, I had found the most gorgeous eagle feather drop earrings and necklace crafted from silver. The necklace had five feathers evenly spaced that sat just below my collarbone; the shape and angle of the feathers drawing any attention away from my scar which was partially exposed. My short, sun-kissed hair was slicked back, tucked behind the ears, curling up slightly at the nape of my neck. I felt good, healthy, happy. There was an inner power with that feeling.

Striding confidently to the front of the building, the thump of music could be heard through the open windows, one of the bands that Henry had hired for the week. They were really good, and when I entered through the saloon doors, the dance floor was packed. I stood, taking in the scene. Henry, Kelly, and another bartender were moving fast, pouring drinks that were being served either by wait-staff or along the long, polished counter. Ethan was spinning Samantha on the dance floor, her auburn hair loose and wavy down her back, new dress swinging around her long, toned legs. Ethan looked completely enthralled. A crowd was gathered in the far corner around the mechanical bull, laughing at the poor soul hanging on for dear life while getting the worst case of whiplash of his life. There was a loud cheer and round of applause as the man was unceremoniously thrown from the saddle landing face first onto the straw-covered floor. Another group was gathered around the pool table, and the crowd at the bar was two deep. There wasn't an empty table to be found.

As I moved forward, my confidence began to wane as heads turned in my direction, and a path opened. I knew it was just the mechanics of a crowd, to make way, but I hated drawing attention, and I knew that some were passing inspection. I pasted on a smile as my stomach began to knot.

Henry met me as I squeezed up to the bar, a slow smile spreading over his face. He looked so much in his element: confident, enthusiastic, handsome; the ends of his black hair curling slightly over his collar. My heart thudded.

"I am speechless." He grinned in obvious approval. "You look beautiful."

I smirked back leaning onto the counter. "Ya, I clean up pretty good." Making light of the compliment. I wasn't used to them when it came to my appearance. Made me awkward.

Henry reached his long body over the bar closing the distance between us, his eyes sparkling. "You always look good," he hummed. Pulling back as more people crowded around, he shouted over the noise. "What can I get for you?"

I ordered an iced tea and spied Sheriff Longmire at the far end of the counter as Henry excused himself and went back to work, promising to take a break soon so we could dance. Dance… I nearly giggled.

Walt was sipping a beer from the can, his back to the festivities, not looking entirely comfortable. Squeezing my way through the crowd, I managed to claim a space at his left elbow.

He glanced up, twitched his lips and half-nodded, taking another slow pull. "I'm surprised to see you here." He lowered the can to the counter top.

"I surprised myself by being here." I smiled sliding onto a recently vacated stool. "But, Henry asked, and it's important to him. It's busy." I glanced around.

Walt gave a half-nod, lips twitching again but sadness was in his eyes.

I'd heard the story, parts of it anyway. Henry never spoke of it except to say that Walt was a widower. His body language, the mood: it was obvious he was feeling the loss tonight.

"You know," I started slowly, not quite sure if I should start at all, "the pain never completely goes away, but it does lessen with time." Our reflection shimmered in the mirror behind the bar. Walt gazed quietly at me through it. I took a sip of the iced tea, fiddled with the glass, taking my time, pacing my story. "My husband was a Marine. A Lieutenant," I began. "We were stationed in Panzer Kaserne, Germany near Stuttgart. I worked with the UN in Geneva at the time. Easy travel. Quick flight." I paused, gauging his reaction. Walt sat silently, still watching, waiting. "I always figured he'd be killed in action. Dreaded it but expected it. That's what you get when you marry military. One day, I got a call to attend a meeting at Le Palais des Nations. Was only going to be gone for the day." I slowly shook my head. "Mark was on leave, took our daughter, Ali, to the market square in Stuttgart for ice cream. She was just short of her second birthday. Loved ice cream. Strawberry. Pink." I smiled at the memory. "As the story goes, a paneled van was driven into the square. Driver stayed with it. The explosion was devastating. Eight people killed. Dozens injured. I came home to find Military Police at my door, and my life changed forever. That was seventeen years ago." I took a slow, deep breath, and another sip of iced tea. "Still hurts if I dwell on it, but life goes on. I was angry for a long time. Threw myself into my work. I had to do something. Mark was a soldier working toward being a UN Peacekeeper but was killed by a terrorist while off duty. Ironic." I snorted derisively. "He and Ali are buried at Arlington, in Virginia. Together. Special circumstances. I became the Peacekeeper, albeit a civilian. Part in his memory. Part because I got so tired of watching how many innocent lives were affected by war. Humanitarian Affairs was the perfect catalyst."

"You've devoted your life, risked it all, to help others." His voice was low, deep.

"Much like you." I turned my head to him understanding his pain. "In the time that I've been here, I've seen your devotion to this town, your loyalty to its people, to your friends, your job. It's admirable. Moving on doesn't mean loving less. We handle things in our own way, and we do it with our loved ones in mind. But… and this is the hard part… we are here, and they are not." I gently placed my hand on his sleeve. "You're a strong man, Sheriff. You'll be okay." We sat in silence for a while, each with our own thoughts and memories. "Want to dance?" I finally asked through a crooked smile.

I got a sad, little, crooked smile back, and Walt lowered his head slightly, then took the iced tea from me and handed it and his beer to Kelly who placed them on the counter behind the bar. He slid off his stool and led the way. A cheery two-step was playing. Didn't quite match our mood, and it was a bit awkward. Both out of practice, but by the second chorus, the tension began to ease.

Lizzie huffed by the bar. She had only gone to the bathroom, but with the line, it had taken longer than she expected. She didn't anticipate seeing Walt up dancing with someone else when she returned. There was a sharp pain in her chest. Disappointment. Again.

"You should be dancing." Henry had come up behind her. He had been heading toward Julia when she and Walt slipped into the crowd.

Lizzie turned, the smile not quite reaching her eyes. "You askin'?"

"I am," Henry replied with a cordial smile, spinning the feisty blonde onto the floor. He would maneuver them to where they needed to be when the music stopped.

As if on cue, Henry and Lizzie were beside Walt and Julia when the song ended, and Walt was stuck. Before he could escape, Lizzie sidled up and trapped him into the next dance, while Henry wrapped his arm around Julia's waist, smiled at his friend, and gently swung her away.

"How subtle," I chuckled twirling under his arm and coming back to be loosely held.

"And, here, I thought it was rather smooth." Henry's eyes glittered with mischief.

He was a really good dancer, but I was having trouble keeping up with the quick tempo, still having limited mobility in my leg and back. I was glad when the tune slowed, and he pulled me close, long fingers wrapping around my back as I placed my left hand on his shoulder, right held by his. As we swayed, I could feel the distance between us shorten until he had fully wrapped his arm around my body, his hand holding mine to his chest. I placed my cheek against the cool leather, taking in his scent. I didn't want the music to end.

Henry procured a table near his office and invited me, Walt, Lizzie, Ethan and Samantha, and a few others to sit. I was a bit out of practice in large social situations, had never really been good at them to begin with. One-on-one or small groups, I was okay, but crowds were never my thing unless I was on the job. The conversation flowed around me as these people had shared experiences in the small town. I laughed at some of the stories, but otherwise stayed pretty quiet. Henry stopped by a few times, even joined us for a while, but the place, his place, was hopping and required his attention.

The corridor to the washroom was narrow, and when I emerged, the two cowboys who had untied Sugar a few days earlier were loitering outside. I tried to pass, but they blocked me in.

"Hey, Ma," one snickered menacingly placing his hand on the wall stopping me. "Ain't it past your bedtime?"

"Excuse me." I stood tall and attempted to pass again.

"I don't think so. Seems you have a fancy for red meat. Maybe you should try some white." He leaned close, his hand cradling his crotch while his friend stood guard at the end of the short corridor. The smell of beer was thick on both of boys.

"You called me _Ma._" I stood my ground making firm eye contact. "I assume you meant _mother_. And yet, you suggest sex. Sounds like a Freudian Oedipus complex. Do you have sexual issues with your mother?" I watched him recoil slightly, his lips curling in anger. "As for my preference of meat, hmmm – steak verses chicken?" I knew I was taunting him, but he was an ass, and diplomacy would have gone over his head.

He sputtered and furiously pressed closer. I pushed him back, firmly. "Back off," I quietly commanded as he was pushed into the opposite wall.

Another couple of patrons came around the corner to use the facilities, and I took the opportunity to slip past.

I hadn't gone but a few steps when I heard the boys behind me. Panic began to rise. Not at an imminent confrontation, but at it being held here, near the dance floor, at Henry's. No. I couldn't let that happen. I detoured and headed for the door. The parking lot. There were always people hanging around outside but certainly not like the crowd in here.

Aaron stood at the pool table with his friends waiting his turn, his eyes scanning the room. He had seen her head to the washroom and saw the two idiots who had confronted her a couple of days ago follow. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he was alert. When he saw her emerge and head for the door, the two clowns in tow, one texting on his cell phone, he dropped his cue on the pool table and silently followed.

"Aaron, come on, man. What gives?" his friend from the gym called after him.

Ethan, on the dance floor again with Samantha, also got a bad feeling. Something was up. Julia was leaving. Without a word, he let go and cut through the crowd, leaving Samantha standing, stunned.

Walt sensed something as well. Several people leaving the bar at the same time, heading to the parking lot. That usually meant trouble. He excused himself from the table.

Everything happened in a matter of seconds. Julia and the cowboys came out first. The boys were laughing and jeering behind her. She was angry but composed. As she turned to confront the boys, Aaron burst through the door, followed by Ethan.

"Commander! Six!" he yelled as I was grabbed from behind, my arms pinned to my sides, my feet lifted from the ground.

Instinctively, I curled my knees up and brought my heel down hard onto the assailant's foot. He howled, losing his grip. My right elbow was next, crashing into his solar plexus winding him, same fist swinging back near my ear making contact with his nose. I grabbed his right wrist, ducked under his arm and flipped him onto his back as Walt, Samantha, and Henry emerged. Turning him onto his stomach, I held the man face down, a one-handed hold with his arm twisted back.

"Stop!" I ordered to the outside crowd who began to move forward, my left hand held up. "Stop! No Fighting."

Aaron and Ethan stood point, back to me, keeping the crowd back. Both men pumped and ready to defend. The two young idiots bounced on the balls of their feet ready for a fight. Walt and Henry watched the crowd for any other potential troublemakers, then made their way to me.

"You fight. You get hurt or arrested, and you don't compete tomorrow. Is that what you want?" I asked the man on the ground. "There's no cause for this." I let him go, repeating quietly. "There's no cause for this." I took a step back as he stood up, embarrassed, angry; now facing the Sheriff.

Walt turned to me. "Want to press charges?"

I shook my head, and Walt dismissed the three cowboys telling them they got off lucky, to go home and sleep it off. If they came around me again, he'd arrest them.

Henry stood gazing at me, stunned at what he'd seen. I'd just incapacitated a man in a matter of seconds. "Remind me not to anger you," he deadpanned.

I shot him a serious look, then turned the young, native man. "This is not the first time you've had my six." I gazed at him and shook my head. "I _do_ know you from somewhere? But, where?"

He drew himself to full height, almost at attention. "Corporal Aaron Long Feather," he introduced himself. "2nd Battalion, 6th Marines, Kilo Company, Ma'am."

My jaw dropped. Oh, shit. I swallowed hard. "Somalia. You guys came in to clean up the mess. Detoured before heading to Afghanistan."

He nodded. "We were supposed to have your back for the treaty signing. Our company was sent to protect you and your team, but we got there too late. I'm sorry, Ma'am."

The melancholy look, the following eyes. Now, I got it. He felt guilty.

"No." I shook my head, oblivious to the others watching the scene, focused solely on the young man before me, so obviously troubled by what he'd been through. "No. You weren't late. We changed the meeting date and location. We had intel of an attack. We sent notification."

He nodded solemnly. "You got attacked anyway. It was a bloodbath, Ma'am. We should have been there. When I saw you here, I couldn't believe it was you. I thought I was going crazy."

I smiled and reached out to gently touch his arm. "I'm very much alive, Aaron. It would have been a lot worse had we not changed the venue."

He smiled back. "I came home because of you."

My smile dropped, fear in my eyes. "You were injured?"

"No, Ma'am." He beamed. "My tour was over, and I wanted to go back to school. I want to do what you do."

My chest swelled and warmth flooded through me. I reached out and touched his arm. "Then, we should talk again… less publically. Not many know who or what I am." I furtively tipped my head to the growing crowd.

"I understand, Ma'am, and I'd be honored." He pressed his lips together in a proud smile.

"And, it's Julia," I clarified as Henry came to stand beside me, his hand on the center of my back.

With the show over, Henry invited people back into the bar. There was only an hour left before closing, and many people opted to filter out on their own, leaving the place considerably less crowded.

We went back to our table, and Henry called for another round, sitting with us. There was an uncomfortable silence at first then Ethan raised his eyebrows to me.

"Commander? I knew about the Director, but Commander? Impressive." He nodded in approval.

"You knew?" I straightened in surprise.

Ethan smirked and shrugged. "I ran your plates back in May when you first arrived. Procedure. No one lives at the Secretariat, so I did a little research. Figured you wanted to remain anonymous. I can respect that."

"I'm a civilian but worked in hand with the military. The military called me _Commander_ because I was the mission director. Same thing."

"Why keep it a secret? It's really cool." Samantha asked leaning her elbows onto the table. "I mean we all knew you were a humanitarian. But, head honcho? Cool."

"Only _head_ in that area," I downplayed. "People tend to have expectations when they find out what I've done. I was hurt and needed, still need to heal."

My new friends gave a silent nod of acceptance, and I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. Now, they knew, and I could simply be me without having to watch what I said.

Last dance was called, and Henry held his hand to me, pulling me onto the dance floor. Wrapping his right arm around my waist, he held my hand in his left over his heart. I could feel it beat and warmth ran through me. The band did an amazing rendition of Brooks and Dunn's _My Heart Is Lost To You_, and we swayed to the tango-esque tune, dipping and whirling every so often.

"You have led an extraordinary life," he quietly stated, dark eyes gazing down at me.

"I warned you there was a lot to tell." I wanted to curl into the safety of his arms but wasn't sure of his reaction. He was the closest person to me here, and I had kept things from him.

"Indeed you did." He quirked a smile. "And, I expect there is still more."

He pulled me close, and I could feel his strength. Resting my head in the hollow of his shoulder, my hand spanned across his lower back. He tightened his hold, and the distance between us disappeared.


	17. Chapter 17 - Coming Clean

**17 – Coming Clean **

Heat waves shimmered across the parched prairie filtering the view like a mirage. A light breeze dusting the tops of the thirsty wheatgrass made them dance sensuously in the glistening, mid-day sun. Overhead, two prairie falcons circled lazily searching for their next meal. One dove, swooping to the ground, coming up with a small rodent in its talons. The other quickly followed suit and both headed toward a distant stand of trees.

Henry stood at the kitchen window watching Julia walk through the short stocks of the back field – wind-tossed hair and radiant smile, old, tan hiking boots, faded navy cotton shorts, ancient light blue UNHC t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and Sugar prancing before her in anticipation of the next throw of the stick in her hand. She was beautiful. So relaxed. And, his heart filled at the sight of her.

His mind drifted back to the night of the dance. They had driven their respective cars back to his place, let the dog out, and sat on the porch swing for hours, talking. Her on one end. Him on the other. One leg curled under her, while he stretched his out. After what had happened in the parking lot and the revelation with Aaron, Julia had opened up more about her life and the time she spent in Africa. Her lust for survival amazed him.

Her parents had been killed in a car accident when she was sixteen, and as an only child with no relative to step up for her, she had been placed in the state foster system. She had laughed. They couldn't keep her there. She kept running away, but kept running back to her family home. Eventually, the system "lost" her, and by the time they discovered their error, she had turned seventeen, filed for emancipated minor status and won. She was allotted an allowance from her parents' estate, but could not access the full inheritance until she turned twenty-one. She worked at a local pet store and kept her grades up to keep the social workers off her back.

During her final year of high school, a motivational speaker planted a seed that would grow into a spectacular career. She saved her money, found sponsors, and at eighteen, made her first trip to Kenya to build her first school with an organization associated with UNICEF. _A two week program_, she snorted. She had stayed for two months living with a local family. Complete culture shock.

Returning to the states in the fall to start university, she changed her program to International Policy, minoring in languages, and every year until she graduated spent her summers in East Africa.

She had not only had built schools but had taught in them, had built clean water systems, and tilled farmland. She talked about the families she had lived with and people she had met. She spoke of her husband and daughter and what led her to fight for children's rights. She had seen war up close and personal, had been shot at (and shot), had been held hostage during a coup in Sudan in the early 2000s, had freed bonded and child slave laborers, had mediated and negotiated treaties. As her career grew, so did the list. Four years as a volunteer, twenty-five as an official UN worker in both Humanitarian Affairs Emergency Relief and eventually as a Peacekeeper. And, her passion for her work burned with each story she told.

She laughed modestly. She had even made the cover of _Time Magazine_ in the late 1990s, her first year as a Peacekeeper. As part of a Humanitarian Affairs team sent to assess the situation of child laborers in a quarry outside of Musoli, Uganda, she had come nose to nose with the quarry owner. It had been a battle of words, verging on violence on their part; guns draw as the aid workers stood their ground. A journalist's camera caught the fury of both participants. She had smiled at the memory. She was like a dog with a bone and couldn't let it go. Eventually, she was offered the lead in the battle, and six months later, an agreement was reached that satisfied all sides. A follow-up article with pictures had made _Time_ again, an image of her walking away from the quarry hand in hand with the very children her team had freed. The photos could be found on the internet, she was sure. They were part of the UN and _Time_ archives. Her copies were in storage in Nairobi.

The first glow of pink and orange kissed the horizon bringing with it the promise of a beautiful day, and the growing light found them cuddled comfortably to greet it. They had somehow stretched out on the narrow, wooden swing, Henry's long legs hanging over the edge, his arm around her cold shoulders, her head nestled against his chest. He held her hand and brought her fingers to his lips, kissing them gently, then brushed a light kiss on her forehead as the sun peeked over the horizon. When she didn't stir at his suggestion that they go in, he drew back to see her comfortably asleep, her hand spanned across his heart. He smiled sleepily, closed his eyes, and joined her.

Days later, the rodeo was over. She had packed her things to leave, planning to return to Red River, but Henry had stopped her. If she really felt more comfortable in the camper, then she could stay on his property, but she was more than welcome in the house. He had gotten used to her presence and really didn't want her to go. She had cupped his face and planted a sweet kiss on his cheek, thanking him for the offer and for being so kind. He smiled. She stayed. That was a week ago.

A motor rumbled at the front of the house, and the gravel drive crunched under tires. Henry left the window while Julia and Sugar walked around the house to the front.

An old, green Oldsmobile ground to a stop beside Henry's truck. Yvonne was the first to get out of the passenger side. Sugar began to quietly whine, and when Julia gave the okay, she raced to Yvonne with absolute bliss, tail wagging furiously. Another woman climbed out of the driver's side while two men emerged from the back. Henry went to greet them, hugging his sister first then moving to the others, hand outstretched.

"Anita, George, Amos, what brings you out here?" he asked.

"We've come to talk to your girlfriend." George, a sixty-year-old, weather-wore man spoke harshly, looking none too happy about dealing with a white woman.

"I assume you mean Julia." Henry curiously glanced at Yvonne. "Is there a problem?" he asked suspiciously.

Anita, a woman in her fifties, long black hair and piercing dark eyes stepped forward giving George a severe look. "No," she replied kindly. "Yvonne told us about an idea that Julia had, and as representatives of the Band Council, we would like to discuss it with her."

"I'm Julia." She stepped forward to introduce herself, hand outstretched. "And, as far as I know," she glanced at George with a friendly smirk, "I don't have a boyfriend. Henry was kind enough to offer his spare room during the rodeo, concerned for my safety. It was an honorable gesture, and he has been very respectful. I was willing to leave, but the offer remained. Please, come onto the porch." She led the way up the stairs. "What can I do for you?"

Henry offered seats to Anita and Yvonne while he and Julia sat on the swing, the men took their place leaning against the posts.

"Yvonne is very happy with her garden and said that you had an idea about one for the whole village." She paused gathering her words. "We've tried projects like this without much success. People are poor and feel that they do not have enough to contribute. But, I like the idea and would like to try again."

"What makes you think your idea is better than any of ours? " George frowned, obviously not really wanting to be there or being brought as the Devil's Advocate.

Julia thought for a moment, sitting straight, gazing at them courteously. "I don't know what you've tried in the past, what has been successful, and what has not. I saw the patch of vacant land beside the community center and thought it would be a good place for a garden. However, for all I know, the ground is not suitable, or it may belong to someone, or, as you said, you've been unsuccessful in the past."

"Julia's done this sort of thing before. She knows what she's doing. Just hear her out." Yvonne pleaded.

The others sat back, waiting.

"Have you heard the story of _Stone Soup_?" Julia asked, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. "I don't know where the story came from, but I've heard different versions in different places. But, the message is always the same."

The others shook their heads. George scowled.

"Okay." Julia nodded. "There once was on old woman who lived in a small, poor village," she began. "She often heard the other villagers grumble of how little they had and how bad their lives were. One day, tired of all the complaining, the old woman carried a very large pot to the cook fire in the front of her tattered old house. She filled it with water then went about the town in search of three fist-sized rocks. Finding what she was looking for, she toddled back to her pot, which was beginning to boil, and dropped the rocks into the water.

A young man passing by asked, _Old woman, what are you doing?_

Stirring the pot, she replied, _I'm making stone soup_.

The young man scoffed, _Crazy old woman, you can't make soup with a stone_.

She raised the stirring spoon to her lips and tasted the broth. _Hmm_, she sighed, _it could use an onion._

The young man shook his head and wandered off, but thought of the old woman and her task. A while later, her brought her an onion.

She chopped the onion and put in the pot as couple with their small child walked by.

_Old woman_, the mother called, _what are you making? _

_Stone soup_, the old woman replied continuing to stir.

_Crazy old woman_, the father shook his head, _you can't make soup with a stone_.

The old woman absently shrugged, and tasted the broth. _Hmm_, she said, _it would taste better if it had a small piece of meat_.

The couple left, shaking their heads, but the mother returned a while later with a small piece of meat. The old woman thanked her, chopped the meat and added it to the pot.

This went on all afternoon. People would pass, scoff at the old woman's attempts but return with an item for the pot – two potatoes, a few withered carrots, salt and pepper, even a few stale buns.

Nearing dinner time, the curious villagers gathered around.

_So, old woman_, one doubtful man called, _how is your stone soup?_

The crowd laughed.

She stirred the pot and brought the ladle to her lips again. _I believe it is done,_ she replied as she carefully removed the rocks. _Go get a bowl and try for yourself_.

Curiosity got the better of them and those who had brought the old woman an item went to get their bowls. Scooping the soup from the pot, they were surprised to find the Stone Soup to be a very good tasting thick stew.

_How did you do this with only a few rocks?_ they asked.

_It was easy_, she replied with a knowing smile. _Alone we have little but together we eat._

Everyone has something they can contribute – a skill, a plank of wood, seeds or a plant, strength to dig or the patience to weed. We often look at what we _don't_ have as individuals, and overlook what we _can_ have as a whole. A community garden would provide food for those who are struggling and provide work for those who would like to fill their day. Being useful and productive, seeing the end result of your work, gives a sense of self-esteem and pride. In the winter, the older generation can pass their skills to the children by working with them to start seedlings for the spring planting so that you actually start with a plant rather than seeds. Growth would be much faster, and you would see the results sooner. You would not only be building a garden but reinforcing a strong sense of community."

They sat there looking at her, Henry's chest filling with pride. Her idea was a good one, one that had many positive rewards. He could see her mind working, the sparkle in her eyes.

Anita, George, and Amos put their heads together and spoke quietly, then Anita turned to Julia and asked, "When can we begin?"


	18. Chapter 18 - Stone Soup

**18 – Stone Soup**

"You're kidding me?" Lester gazed at Henry in surprise.

"No, I am not." Henry ignored the reaction, and regarded the people who had gathered.

"Oh, man. I'm disappointed," Lester continued, smirking, elbowing his brother-in-law. "Whatever happened to _The_ _Rezdawg_, brother? You would have had her in bed by now."

Henry turned, annoyed. "It is no one's concern, and you need to show more respect," he quietly warned.

Lester held his hands up in mock surrender. "Sorry," he grinned, lowering his hands, "but she's nice, and pretty, and you obviously like her. It shows. What's stopping you?"

Henry turned to the gathering again. "It is complicated." His brows furrowed at his pathetic excuse.

I stood between Anita and George giving them last minute encouragement. Anita confidently held a wooden clipboard in her hands, papers and plans organized for the project. The Council and I had met several times over the past few days discussing what needed to be done, what supplies were required, and how to motivate the people to participate. There had been resistance at first, but Anita won them over, and they finally agreed to my help. In my experience, initiating the plan with the leaders, guiding them was one thing, but it was always up to the villagers to keep the momentum going. They had to want to be successful and work as a team.

The Band Council had announced the meeting over the local radio and by word-of-mouth, and had personally visited some of the residents. They were encouraged by the crowd that had come to hear the full plan. I stepped to the fringe to give them complete control.

Anita stood in a small clearing in front of her people, cleared her throat, and raised her hand to draw their attention. Silence fell over the group.

"I am very glad to see so many show up today. I know that it's late in the season, but I think we can start something here that will be positive for the whole community, something that will last."

She carefully outlined the plan and did what she could to inspire them to participate. She told a modified version of Stone Soup and explained how everyone, no matter how young or old, had something valuable to contribute – time, skill, goods, wisely avoiding the topic of money – or lack thereof. She spoke clearly and well, and the gathering listened. Only a few muttered amongst themselves. She called them out.

"Mica, do you have a question?"

"Ya," a tall Indian in his late-twenties rudely returned. "What's _she_ doing her?" He jutted his chin toward me. "This is no place for a white woman."

Anita glanced at me. We had anticipated someone might take offence to my attendance. "Julia is a friend. She would like to help. Do you have a problem accepting help from a woman?"

"A white woman, yes."

"Does anyone else have a problem with Julia being here?" she asked avoiding the mention of race.

There was a bit of shuffling and muttering, but no one else spoke up.

Anita glanced at me again, and although her face was impassive, I could see concern in her eyes. I stepped forward.

"Good morning," I spoke in a clear, strong voice. "If my presence is going to cause problems for this project, then I'll leave. This project is more important. But, I've done this sort of thing before and would like to offer my help."

"Why don't you go back where you came from? You think helping a bunch of poor red skins makes you look good or something?" Mica spat from the back of the crowd.

"That's not fair!" A little voice hidden amongst the people yelled. "Julia's colorblind. I heard her tell Mommy."

I had to fight to hold in the snicker as Layla boldly pushed her way forward to stand by me, grabbing hold of my hand protectively. Little pitchers have big ears. I smiled at her and gave her hand a squeeze.

"An extra set of experienced hands couldn't hurt, and race is not an issue," I told the crowd.

"Race is always an issue with whites."

"Not with me." I calmly replied having faced racism more times than I could count. Pausing for a moment, I began, "I'm sure everyone here has received a gift at some point in their lives – Christmas, birthday, just because… Do you look at the colorful paper, the ribbons and bows, and say _Oh, what a lovely package. I'll just put it on the shelf._ Never thinking what might lie inside? Or, do you rip the paper off to see what the gift is?"

There was some chuckling and whispering as people discussed their answers.

"So, what do you consider more important, the colorful outside or what's inside?" I asked again, smirking playfully. "Personally, I might admire the outside for a while, but ultimately, I rip the paper off. The inside is much more interesting. Granted," I sighed, "there are always the some gifts that are wrapped beautifully but are empty boxes, and others that are wrapped in newspaper but absolutely priceless." My eyes glistened knowing that most got the message. "I'll go if you want, but I hope you'll let me stay."

There was some more shuffling and muttering, and finally a strong, male voice sounded from the other side of the gathering, "Stay." Aaron and his friend stepped forward.

"Ya, stay," his friend added, hands deep in pockets of well-worn jeans.

People turned their heads to the men.

"Stay," another voice called from the opposite side. It was Yvonne.

"Is your journey over yet?" Mathias asked from beside his truck. I nodded. "Then I see no reason why we should refuse help."

Having been warned about Mathias' sentiment toward whites, his endorsement meant a lot, and obviously had some sway with the group. There were nods and more quiet discussion, then silence as an old woman and her scraggly dog pushed their way forward.

"Hello, Maggie," I greeted warmly, wondering how she had gotten from town to the Rez.

She pressed her lips together, scowling at the crowd. Turning to me, she fished in the pocket of her tattered, woolen sweater, digging out a leather strap, a beaded shield the size of a silver dollar with fringe dangling from it. She motioned to me, and I stepped toward the tiny woman. Holding the necklace up, she reached to string it around my neck. I bent for her, and she slipped it over my head.

"Thank you." I smiled kindly.

She patted my cheek and broke into a toothless grin before toddling off, shaking an angry finger at the villagers who stood silently watching.

"Well, I guess that settles it." Anita smirked at the crowd. "Anyone else have something to say?"

Over the next few days, the community center acted as the drop-off for donated supplies: five or six eight foot long fence boards, four twelve foot two-by-fours, a couple of balls of string, some old fence posts, wire, for some reason – paint, and so on. Several volunteers had arrived on the first day equipped with shovels and hoes to frame the fifteen by twenty-five foot garden. The following day found some of the same volunteers plus and minus a few more turning the soil. It was interesting to see the range of ages, and George, who oversaw the project when Anita had to work, surprised me by suggesting small jobs for the children to make sure that they felt a part of the mission as well. They were his little "gofers" – you know – go fer this and go fer that. I smiled watching as Marcus proudly hauled water bottles to some of the older villagers in the field.

Standing back for a moment, leaning on my hoe, I observed those who had come: men and women, young children with their parents, and older people wanting to feel that they still had much to contribute. Very similar to the villages I had worked in in Africa. Only here, a group of teens gathered off to the side watching, snidely commenting to each other, a negative force beginning to take root. I'd seen them a few times over the past week and had mentioned it to Anita and George. I had suggested a plan to get them involved but had yet to make the approach. I guess now was the time. Stepping over the string line onto the packed dirt at the side of the community center, I walked toward the boys.

"Morning," I called. "Want to try?" I invited, smiling and holding the hoe out to them.

They snorted, slouched; hips hitched coolly, thumbs hooked into the belt loops of their jeans.

"What's it to ya?" One jutted his chin toward me smirking back at his friends. "You think you're some fancy, white, do-gooder helping us poor, red folks out?"

"You don't know anything about me." I lowered the hoe but kept my countenance soft. "Racism is a sad commentary on human society. It's everywhere. But, it doesn't have to be here."

The boy, about fifteen, five-five, worn clothes, shoulder-length black hair and an attempt at a peach-fuzz mustache gazed at me with derision. "What would you know about it?"

I paused for a moment, reading them, and making a bold decision. "I spent the last twenty-five years pretty much being the middle of an Oreo cookie. I've been in places where people start wars because of tribal or clan differences. And, I was usually the one in the middle trying to help sort things out. But, problems can only be solved if all involve want it solved." I pulled the sleeve off my shoulder exposing the small, round scar. "I got this for being nice and trying to help people. I wouldn't give up or give in."

One of the boys, who had stood back, stepped forward for a better look. "That a bullet hole?" he asked with strange curiosity. "Guess they didn't want the problem solved," he smirked.

I grinned. "Most did and put the others in their place. Hurt like hell, though." I adjusted the sleeve. "I've been the target of racism more times than I care to count, and really don't need it from you guys. I'm here to help, because I like being busy and productive. I like seeing an end result, and seeing good things come from people working together. What about you?" I challenged.

"They got it all under control," one scoffed. "They don't need us."

"Would you _like_ to do something? To be a part of this?" I swept my hand toward the field.

They looked a little sheepish now, a bit uncertain.

"Look, even if you don't want to dig in the dirt, I'm sure there's something you guys can do." I looked around, thinking, then smiled to myself. "Can you draw?" I asked.

The cocky smirk was back as they nodded to each other.

"I mean draw, not just spray paint your tag on the side of a building," I clarified.

"Ya, we can draw," one boldly answered.

"Okay," I smiled at them, "Then I have a possible project for you. If it's good, you can present your ideas to the Band Council and see what they say."

They seemed intrigued and puzzled. "What project?"

I directed the boys to the side of the center and made them stand back and look at the blank wall of the building facing the garden.

"Do you think you can come up with a mural that would represent what this garden means to the community? If each of you draws a design and presents them to the Council, they could choose one, and you guys could paint it on the side of the building. I've already spoken with Anita and George, and they're open to it. But, it has to be something appropriate. What do you think? You think you could come up with something that the village would be proud to have on the wall of their community center? Could you imagine being able to say, _we did that_." I pointed at the empty wall.

I got a couple of impressed nods as they thought about it.

"I think we could do that."

It took a full week. Garden framed. Soil turned and fertilized. Rows hoed. Villagers came and went, adding their touches, proud of their accomplishment, waiting for the blessing ceremony that would take place in a few days so they could plant.

The boys worked hard on their mural, and the positive encouragement from the elders and other participants filled them with pride.

On the day of the ceremony, Henry and I arrived as the rising sun sat on the horizon, bright golds and yellows spearing up through a cloudless sky. It would be a beautiful day. The boys were already there and looked like they had worked through the night. A couple of old sheets covered the side of the building, the final product beneath ready to be proudly unveiled. I carried a pumpkin vine to the edge of the garden and placed it with other plant donations that lined the edge. It would produce fruit come the fall.

Anita and the rest of the Band Council arrived shortly after, quickly followed by those who had worked on the garden. It was quite a sight as we gathered together. Henry stood behind me, pulling me close, arms wrapped around my torso. He whispered affectionately in my ear, "Great idea". Warmth flooded me as I drew my arms up to hug his across my chest. It felt good to be here, to be permitted to participate, to feel accepted, but more than that, at this moment, it felt good to feel the warmth of his body pressed close to mine. I leaned back absorbing it.

Anita called the Shaman and the Elders who began the blessing ceremony, and when it was done, the plants were interred to the ground, mine included.

The boys stood to the side waiting their turn, and when the crowd turned their attention to them, they couldn't decide whether to act cool, proud, or excited, so they just yanked the sheets from the mural exposing a brightly colored portrait that drew gasps.

It was incredible. In the upper left, the gentle face of the wind blew from the powder blue sky breathing life onto a plot of furrowed ground. On the right, the smiling golden sun beamed warmly onto Mother Earth. Birds overhead brought sprigs of green to the brown garden below and life could be seen springing from the rows of soil. It was inspirational. Something to be proud of. They received enthusiastic applause. And, I believe they blushed at the obvious praise.

The boy who I had originally confronted pulled a sign from behind the garbage cans and approached the Council.

"We made this extra," he modestly said, handing it over.

It was about two feet wide, maybe ten inches high, and had a three foot post that could be hammered into the ground. Anita smiled and turned the sign to the crowd.

"Stone Soup Garden"


	19. Chapter 19 - Rolling Thunder

**19 – Rolling Thunder**

Fingertips slid lightly from my shoulders to my wrists. He always approached from behind. A supportive hand on the back. A gentle rub of the shoulder. A slight shiver shuttered as fingers danced back up my arms, caressing the curve of my neck, brushing the hair aside. Feather light lips grazed the edge of my ear, hot breath uttering soft words. Thunder rolled in the distance as we watched lightening split the sky over the dry prairie.

The storm hadn't reached here yet, but it was brewing.

I leaned back as his arms wrapped around my body, hands spanning from my hips, across my stomach, rising to my ribcage, pulling me against him. I could feel him hard against my lower back. Not the first time, but it had never been this intimate. We stood, absorbing the moment, his thumbs reaching cautiously upward under my breasts. A silent question, asking permission. I tipped my head back onto his shoulder, pressing my body firmly into his. Permission granted. He inhaled deeply, slowly, as his hands rose, beginning a languid massage, thumbs skillfully sliding over raised nipples. A gasp. A moan. Melt as his fingers worked their magic. When was the last time I'd been touched like this? I couldn't remember.

I dropped my arms and reached back feeling his hips, pulling him closer. Turning, my hands wrapped around his waist, spanning his lower back, edging for his backside, wanting more. I tipped my head back; his eyes glittered down. Dark and beautiful.

Lowering his lips to my ear, he whispered my name, a word on a breeze. "Julia."

I smiled, unable to respond, lost in the moment.

His hand rose to brush my cheek. "Julia." His voice was a bare whisper: raw and distant.

I raised my hand to return the gesture. _Henry_. A silent call.

He caught my fingers and brought them to his lips.

"Julia," he whispered again. "Wake up. You're dreaming."

I groaned, my eyes fluttering open. Henry sat on the edge of the bed, a silhouette in the darkness, holding my hand as thunder rumbling outside.

"You were moaning," he quietly said, toying with my fingers. "Bad dream?"

I raised my free hand to cover my face. It must have been scarlet.

"No." I groaned, feeling his weight against my side. "Did I wake you?"

"No," he said. "I was just getting in." He brushed a damp strand of hair away from my eyes, tucking it behind my ear. "There is a storm coming. I wanted to get home before it hit."

Awake now, I slowly sat up, facing him. God, he was beautiful. I twitched an embarrassed smile.

"Want to go watch it?" I asked.

He smiled and gave a single nod. Standing, he kept hold of my hand as I swung my legs over the edge. Giving an appraising look, he took in the loose, white tank top and short, pink, bed shorts that I wore. I felt exposed. The scars were visible. The first he'd really seen of them. Limping heavily with the first few steps, he draped his arm around me to assist.

"Are you alright?" he asked as I padded out in bare feet. "You pushed yourself hard this week."

I nodded sheepishly gaining a better stride. It had been a tough week, but well worth it. But, the first steps after resting were always the hardest. Pain shot from my heel though my back but eased with movement.

As we reached the front door, I noticed Henry's jacket and vest tossed over the back of the sofa, his boots on a mat by the coat hooks.

I called to Sugar to join us, but she refused and tried to block our way as another boom sounded. My brave dog. My protector and friend. Not understanding thunder, just hearing an explosion. I crouched to stroke her head, to reassure her that it was alright. She gazed at me with big, brown eyes, gave a gentle nudge to my cheek then headed to the bed that Henry had made for her by the hearth.

It was a cool night: dark and breezy. Thunderheads billowed above making the air heavy and damp. Henry stood against a post while I stood by the stairs, watching the lightening hit the atmosphere in one strike, then split into half a dozen smaller bolts before hitting the ground. You could feel the static in the air. That itchy, tingly sensation that crawls up your skin and makes the hair on the back of your neck prickle. The smell, too. Electric. Sizzling. I hoped that none of the bolts had hit the forest and started fires.

"You have a heart as large as this prairie." Henry quietly broke the silence. "With Sugar, with Maggie, the boys on the Rez. Everyone you meet, you make feel important."

I shook my head slowly, thoughtfully, staring out at the storm. "Common decency." My voice was low.

He pushed off from the post and came to stand behind me, running a gentle hand across my shoulders, fingering the scar on my left scapula.

"I can't image this kind of pain," he said softly brushing his lips over the rough skin on the blade.

"Not something I would wish on anyone." I twitched a small smile as his fingers ran across my back and down my arms, wrapping around, and pulling me close.

"You are a remarkable woman, Julia Farine. Compassionate. Kind. Decent," he spoke softly in my ear.

I closed my eyes, feeling my dream, feeling the warmth of his body against mine. I raised my arms to encompass his.

"This feels nice," I said absorbing him.

I could feel him nod against the side of my face as he lowered his lips to my neck. My heart thudded hard as they grazed lightly on my skin.

A close boom of thunder made me jump, and I was held tighter.

"You are safe," he whispered in my ear. "You will always be safe with me."

The wind picked up, and the rain began, a torrential downpour that started in a blink. We dashed inside before we got too wet and stood at the front window watching the torrent strike the house. There was power in the storm, one that surged and spread.

I turned, and Henry raised his hand to my cheek, cupped my face, and brought his lips to mine, gentle at first, but with a growing intensity that matched the storm outside. Response was inevitable. I arched into his grip, every nerve on edge and shimmering. Oh God. He felt so good.

We stumbled, and I backed into the side of the sofa for balance as his hands spanned and held me in place. Hesitantly, he pulled back, gazing intently. You could almost see the thoughts flow through his mind. His eyes darted, struggling.

"Tell me, _No_." His voice was raspy.

My lips twitched at the corners, and I imperceptibly shook my head. "More," I uttered grazing his stubbled cheek with the back of my fingers. "More," I whispered as my lips ran under his chin to the soft spot by his ear, nuzzling tenderly, feeling his pulse race.

With a crash of thunder, lightning filled the room, and the cold thrashing outside was nothing to the rising heat between us. As the gale whipped the house, the frenzy grew. Desperate and fervent. Passionate and tender. Hands grasping, touching, caressing. Lips searching, seeking. Verging on frantic. He covered my face and neck with kisses as I tipped back to allow him full access. Suddenly, he grabbed my buttocks, lifting me to rest on the back of the sofa as my legs wrapped around his waist pulling him close. Hot, so hot through the layers of cloth. There was no thought, just instinct. The desperate need to satisfy a deep longing. A fumble at the waist. A push of fabric, and he was inside me in one stroke. Fire shot to my core as I held on nearly blind. It had been so long; too long. He lifted me and in two strides moved us to the sofa sinking together into the softness. It didn't take long for either of us. And, the ride was over in minutes. Gasping, we lay entwined, linked.

"I did not intend for that to happen," Henry finally puffed nuzzling into the crook of my neck.

"Regrets?" I asked, still pinned beneath him, not sure how to respond.

"No." He twitched a small smile as he rose onto his elbows, relieving the weight from my crushed chest. "Just not how I had imagined I would approach you."

"Ahh," I grinned. "You've been thinking of this?" My hands massaged his lower back just above his backside, keeping the intimate connection.

"Yes," he admitted, "but I did not feel that it was appropriate. I did not want you to think I invited you here for this reason."

I arched up to tenderly kiss his lips. "I don't." I paused then smirked. "You know that dream you woke me from?" He nodded. "This was it. Storm and all."

He beamed, and his hips began to move again, a languid stroke that sent my senses soaring.

"Have you ever watched a pot boil?" I asked.

He raised his eyebrows and stopped. I wrapped my legs around his waist to pull him closer.

"The lid jumps and bangs." My hips thrust gently toward him. "But, once you take the lid off and release the pressure, the water bubbles at a steady pace."

He grinned, understanding. "We lifted the lid."

"Took the pressure off."

"Now, we enjoy the steady boil." He lowered his mouth to mine, our hips matching rhythm, letting that feeling simmer.

Bright sunshine filtered through the gauzy, brown curtains in Henry's bedroom. In the wee hours of the morning, after the violence of the storm had passed but while the rain continued to strike the shingled roof, Henry had led me down the hall, slipped our clothes off, and tucked me into bed, protectively nestled in the crook of his arm. He was a gentle lover: careful and tender, and my heart strained at the unaccustomed feeling.

Now, lying on my back, staring at a wave of light on the white ceiling, feeling the steady rise and fall of Henry's breathing, I reveled in a glorious, satisfied sensation.

Last night had been a night of admissions, and had I confessed that it had been a very long time since I'd had sex. He had joked, making light of it, but tried to guess how long it had been. A year at least, because of my injuries. No? Two years? His expression was priceless when I confessed that it had been over five years. I worked mostly with men, I had explained. Intimate relationships made any working relationship difficult, not to mention such behavior could lead to a negative reputation, and either situation would undermine my authority. I had too much at risk. Besides, if the relationship should go south, the ensuing termination of said relationship would damage the integrity of the team. I couldn't let that happen. I had last been involved with a military captain who was stationed near the village where our base was located. We were friends, and the feelings grew, but we both knew that the situation was temporary. Didn't hurt any less when he was shipped out a year later.

Henry had shaken his head as he stroked my shoulder. Pity? Sympathy? I couldn't tell. He said he felt bad that I had been deprived of such precious feelings. To lighten the mood, he explained how he got the nickname _Rezdawg, _not all together his fault he chuckled_, _andabout a woman he had cared about who had the habit of coming in and out of his life on a whim, usually leaving him angry and discontent. There was always a shadow of doubt, a hidden mistrust, when he was with her. But, he didn't feel that with me, he confessed. He said being with me was easy, natural, like it belonged. I had to agree.

We had drifted off to sleep comfortable in each other's arms with the storm heading north.

Henry shifted, rolling over, reaching to pull me close. I turned toward him, wrapping my arm around his waist, fingers stroking up his back to span across strong muscle. I could feel him grow hard against my thigh, his lips curling up in a lazy smile as his eyes cracked opened.

"Good morning," he muttered sleepily.

"Good morning," I returned, my hand running down his back, cupping his backside playfully. "Rise and shine." I grinned.

"Rise, yes." He smiled wickedly as I was pushed onto my back. "Do not know about shine."

He planted a light kiss on my lips then worked his way slowly down my body. Dusting over the scar on my left shoulder, he lingered for a moment before moving to the long, thin scar that ran between my breasts. He'd never seen them in full light, and I could tell he was examining them. Moving on, nimble fingers danced over my ribcage and found purchase on my nipples, rolling and teasing until I arched with the flood of sensation and need. Damn him, I smiled. I could feel him grin against my skin. His fingers were replaced by clever lips, suckling gently until all I could do was feel – no thought, no sight, just feel. His right hand stroked down my side as he balanced over me, moving down, his tongue running a light trail from my breast over my ribs to my navel.

I caught his hand as it ran up the inside of my thigh reaching for the moist folds and intense heat within.

"No," I struggled to utter. He stopped, raising his head. "Just you." I wrapped my leg around his as he drew up again.

He paused, and we gazed at each other intently before he gradually entered. For the next few moments, we simmered; a gentle rock. He'd pull out almost to the end and ease back in, our hips matching an unhurried rhythm, and slowly, the pot began to heat and boil.


	20. Author's Notes

**Author's Note**

So far, in the Longmire stories, I have not added Author's Notes to the beginning of each chapter. Maybe I've matured, not needing to communicate or seek approval, I don't know. I write because I enjoy writing. It's a release from the stresses of everyday life. But, I did want to acknowledge you, the readers. I appreciate you following the stories and the reviews that have been received. I try to respond when I can, but not all reviews have a reply feature. (Dee, that means you J ) So, in that, thank you.

Healing Hurting Hearts is done.

I have re-read the entire series so far and have made minor corrections. I will be going over the stories and making the corrections on-line this week. For those of you who have alerts, it may appear as re-posting.

Installment three – _Prairie Dawgs_ is being mapped out.

Stay tuned.

Dani


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